Worst Decision Of My Life

So I woke up this morning to endless possiblities. A Saturday off with nothing pressing to do. I hadn't been to Costco in a long time since the closest one is an hour away. Being the bachelor that I am, I only had one scoop of laundry soap left and was down to the last roll of toilet paper. So I decided to venture out. I chose to go west because that Costco is close to a ski shop and I needed some ski wax. I told a friend of mine that I was going and she advised me heavily against it. I guess its been so long since I've been to Costco, I've forgotten about what a zoo sample day is. I could barely find a shopping cart let alone a parking space. I finally got inside and of course I got "that" cart. Stupid wheel had so much hair and nasty jammed in it, it would jam up and I'm left bulldozing a squeeker around the bagels. I almost got into fistacuffs with a "rural" gentleman over a block of delicious Tilamook pepper jack cheese. Plus this Costco did the soap in the opposite corner of the store so I have to shove my way through traffic with a loaded cart that won't roll on all four wheels just to get some Cascade and Tide. Then I decide to use the self checkout lines to save time. Everything is going great until go to pay and realize that they don't take VISA. What's that all about? They'll take American Express but not VISA. Really? Fortunately they accepted my debit card and after twenty minutes of trying to worm my way through a bunch of obese middle-aged men and their slices of pizza, I made my way to freedom. Exhausting. Plus everybody kept giving me the stink eye because I was passing them in the aisles like I was in the Indy 500. I guess some people just like to relish the atmosphere that only a bargain club warehouse can provide. The day was saved by a trip to Wendy's and a no. 6 combo with a Dr. Pepper.

Hello My Name Is...

A shocking revelation has recently been brought to my attention. It is the personal introduction followed my church calling IE "Hi my name is Chet Chippewa; elder's quorum pianist." These people exist. One particular example can be found in the glorious Moses Lake singles ward. The elder's quorum president. Every person he introduces himself to he follows it up with is status on the religious hierarchical ladder. Can you imagine if everybody did this. "Hi I'm Steve Gravy, and I have webbed feet." "Hi I'm Molly Juniperberry and I'm a convicted felon." I suppose it would make life easier. I'm not sure what is more sad, the person doing the introducing or the person being impressed by such magical feats. Apparently it must do something because the dude has had like 4 girlfriends in the last 3 months so who am I to judge. But I make an impassioned plea to society as a whole; Unless ordered by a judge or your probation officer, spare us the grandiose title. Nobody cares. Not even your grandma (seriously she called me and we had a whole conversation about it).

Land Of The Lost

I enjoy grocery shopping. I should say I USED to enjoy grocery shopping. I suppose my love for it stems from my childhood when I would go with my mom to Albetson's and on occasion she would let us kids open the wheat thins and eat them while we were shopping. Recently however, my joy has been tainted by the very thing I used to love. I loved the environment. Each aisle was a new adventure. One side of the store was the jungle of produce while the other side was a industrial setting of meat and seafood. A surprise awaited around every corner. Now those surprises usually consist of an overweight gentleman scratching himself in front of the frozen pizzas. I'm sure all of you have experience Wal-Mart fever. No matter when you go, there seems to be an overcrowding of characters that can best be described as former carnival ride workers. Where do these people come from and why are they all congregating at Wal-Mart. I suppose I don't do myself any favors by always shopping on Saturday but these people appear at all hours of the day. Today I was deciding on which brand of peanut butter best represented my extreme attitude toward life, when I witnessed something rarer than a unicorn's bar mitzvah. There was an EXTREMELY overweight lady on a store provided motorized scooter. Well I'm not sure if she broke it, the battery went dead, or the entire machine just couldn't take its miserable existence anymore, but there she was in the middle of the aisle yelling across the store at what I can only assume was her husband for help. I guess her husband was too eager to get to the libations aisle and left her in the dust. I would have offered help, but she wouldn't stop muttering long enough for me to get a word in. It was just another example of the litany of surprises that can only be afforded at Wal-Mart. When will I learn my lesson and start shopping somewhere else? Probably never because I feel so much better at the state of my affairs after a brief hiatus into the land that dignity forgot.