As you saw from the photo of my jacked-up Chinese Tupperware yesterday, the Mansion is stocked with cherries. I don't know if they're in season here in the good ol' U.S. of A., or if The Devil imports them from a far-away paradise where toddlers are paid half a zwieback a week to harvest them. What I DO know is that they're shiny and firm and as big as plums, and I buy a bag every week.
And now, for my tale of outrage...
Sunday, I was not happy to find myself in the slowest checkout line in The Devil's Playground. Of course I could have switched. But I have a knack for picking the slowest one. Without even trying! I chose the line where the lady at the register was forking over her cash. Almost. Because she decided on a card instead. And then she hadn't put her bags in her cart yet. She had a lot of bags. The Devil's Handmaiden was kind of talky, too. I stood there behind the next dude, who only had a ceiling fan and a couple of hardware items for attaching it. I stood there. For four minutes without moving. So...I looked into the lane to the right, even backed up and started over there, because while the customer piling merchandise on the conveyor had a lot of stuff...that Devil's Handmaiden was scanning it like she had been promised ice water by The Devil himself.
Yes, I backed up without beeping, and started to get in line, but an old guy and his woman cut in there forthwith. Let the record show that they, and the next couple who came up behind them, were paid and done before I got my stuff on the conveyor back at my original choice. Finally, my Handmaiden handed the receipt to Fan Dude and moved my stuff up to the scanner. I swear, she talked so much that I figured she was related to both of the previous customers.
I had hardly anything in my cart on Sunday. Everything was in the child seat section. We have a full freezer, and just needed a couple of basics. Some Pepcid, paper plates, paper towels, chicken wings, slaw mix, broccoli slaw mix, sliced red apples, a 2-lb. block of Extra Sharp Cheddar, and a bag of cherries.
The Devil's Not-Handy Maiden asked me how I was. Not as good as I was 20 minutes ago when I got in line. But I did not say that. Only, "Fine." Not wanting to encourage repartee. Not-Handy Maiden babbled on. I noticed that nobody got in line behind me. I guess they had already had the pleasure, and recognized her like a 1920s con man on an FBI Most Wanted poster. I also saw part of the reason for her measure-with-a-calendar checkout times.
The Devil's Not-Handy Maiden double-bagged everything. Every single bag. She took them off the wire holders and set them down in another bag. Seriously. She's costing The Devil an arm and a leg. No ice water for her!
"I put your cherries in that bag. (BAGS!) Except for the loose one. One got out. I didn't figure you wanted it. So I tossed it."
Yeah. I'm sure she did. AFTER she had weighed the bag and charged me by the pound for them. I daresay Not-Handy Maiden cheated me out of about 5 cents!
Or gypped me, as my mom might have said.