Thursday, January 31, 2013

I Was "Missed" Last Weekend



“Have a nice day, Miss.”


The word rolled off of his tongue like it was nothing.  No hesitation, no hint of mocking in his tone.  No allusion at all to the fact that he drove into the sandwich shop on his learners permit, with his mom riding gun; while I drove into the sandwich shop on a pillow because my sciatic was acting up, with two empty booster seats in the back.  


It took every fiber of my being not to jump over the counter and maul the kid.  Not maul like Cujo-maul; maul like jump-his-bones-maul.  My kids weren’t with me.  The shop was basically empty.  But still, it was the middle of the day and I am technically in the middle of my life.  Realistically, I wouldn’t have even made it all the way over the counter.  And the last thing I need right now is a statutory conviction. 


“Have a nice day, MISS.”


His words echoed in my head.  I couldn’t remember the last time I was “Missed”.  I feel like I’ve been “Ma’am'ed” for the past decade straight.


I played the pathetic scene out in my mind.  

I’d abandon my purse on the floor in front of the rack of Fritos, Sun and Lays chips; and the packages of Tastykakes.  The packages of Tastykake Cream Filled Koffee Kake Cupcakes with the cream clinging to the inside of the top of clear and blue cellophane wrapper that I held in my right hand just moments prior, then reluctantly placed back on the rack with an audible sigh.

Next, I’d hoist my ass up on the counter between the cash register and glass case that protects the sandwich toppings, then try to swing my legs around counter-clockwise.  When the sandwich case proved impossible to negotiate over or around, I’d swing my legs clockwise and awkwardly elevate them over the back of the register, knocking the stacks of cups down, along with the tip cup, and my freshly prepared sandwiches.  By this time, the kid probably would have run to the back room and called 911, or worse: his mom.   


In reality, I simply craned my head down and tried unsuccessfully to establish eye contact with him to express to him just how appreciative I was.  Alas, the brim of his hat hung too low.   

“THANK YOU!”  I practically screamed but the kid was already deep in conversation with his co-worker about a shift trade.




I will not soon forget you, sandwich kid with the pale skin, rogue pimples, and over-grown curls hanging out of your navy blue cap...


And I really wish I had a package of those cupcakes right about now...



Let's hope the Tastykakes' team manages their bottom line
more closely than our friends at Hostess.




In case you somehow forgot or never experienced the awesomeness, America’s least beloved canine:


Seriously one of the scariest movies I have ever seen.  Just don’t watch it with a naysayer like Jeff.


And a birthday shout-out to BIG PERM - this one's for you!