I almost bit my tongue in half this past weekend trying not to blow up at a man. I'm not a fan of yuppies. We all know how I feel about howler monkeys, much less yuppies with howler monkeys. Yuppies with multiple howler monkeys need forced sterilization.
Anyway. I lost my joi de vivre after about an hour of the heat and the stupidity on Sunday. I couldn't make jokes about people returning babies or husbands. I just didn't care. There's only so much of white trash returning $145 dollars worth of stolen fishing line you can deal with per day.
So Yuppielicious rolls up with three kids. Two are standing in the shopping cart with a Ziploc bag of goldfish crackers. A trip to the Wal-Mart do not necessitate provisions. This is not the Oregon Trail! Before they're gone, there are enough goldfish and goldfish crumbs to start seventeen Zen water gardens and possibly feed a family of mice for a year.
Then there's the blonde and mouthy pre-adolescent - the proto-Paris - who actually turns out to be pretty cool.
Yuppielicous has some pool thing he wants to return. But before he even starts the return, he starts waving an empty jar around goes on a RANT about peanuts. I can't remember. I don't really care.
The rant was about how we don't have the specific type of unsalted peanuts he wants. How there is no shelf space for them but that the other Wal-Mart he goes to has them. Why doesn't this Wal-Mart have them anymore?
Do I look like I know? I can get someone for you. That's all I can do. See that man over there. Go talk to him. He's got a radio. He can get someone who might know something. Me, I just mash buttons. DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID? I really don't know why we don't have your precious peanuts. Seriously. You got to shut up. Eh. Wait. Let me get a word in. Nope. Not now. Maybe now. Sir. Sir. If you .. fine. Talk to the air. I'll sit here and nod. OK. That's all about peanuts? You can talk to Daniel over there when you're done.
He shuts up about the peanuts. Seems to accept the fact that there is nothing I can do. Maybe he just needed to vent. I can accept that.
Then, like a bad relationship, when the wife takes the cheating husband back, we move on into a whole 'nother realm of dysfunction.
ME: "Do you want to return that."
ME: "What's wrong with it?"
YUPPIELICIOUS: "It didn't work."
ME: "What specifically is wrong with it? We need to be able to tell the manufacturer. Did the seals blow out, did it break, what?" It was a plastic, blow-up pool toy of some sort.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Yeah. We tried to blow it up but it has a hole in it."
ME: Looks at receipt. Purchased May 15. Is now July 29. School starts in three weeks. Funny how it manages to get a mysterious hole after you've gotten a good ten weeks of use out of it.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "We never used it once. Everything we buy here breaks." Continues for a while. Their pool filter is malfunctioning. His daughter's bike is bad. He didn't like some strawberries he bought last week. His paper shredder makes funny noises. You're still shopping here .... you're still shopping here ....
ME: "But you're just returning it now? You bought it more than two months ago."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Well we can still return it can't we?"
ME: picks up package, notices distinct smell of chlorine, processes return. "Do you want me to put it back on your debit card or cash?"
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Can you give me cash, we're going to the bowling alley later? Can you believe it, the bowling alley charges $4.75 per game. A man can't take his family out. That's just too much money." Continues in this vein for a while. I get an earful about the bowling alley, the high cost of living, the difficulty of finding family entertainment, etcetera.
YUPPIE'S BLONDE DAUGHTER: "Daddy, you said we weren't going to go bowling. You said we couldn't go." PWNED. By a seven-year-old.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Well we might go later this week." Dude, seriously. Your parenting issues are not my problem. But if you have to lie to me about your kids in front of your kids, you have more issues than Newsweek. And then lie to your kids about the lies you just told me about your kids? That's just .... messed up. You should not have been allowed to spawn!
ME: "Uh. Here's your money. Sign this."
ME: internally "Please Jesus. Just make this man leave. I am about to gouge out my eyeballs with a spork."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "I'm not a complainer, but I got to talk to someone about the peanuts."
ME: "But you're complaining right now." I swear, this slipped out before I could bite it back.
Fortunately for me, he was so in love with the sound of his own voice he didn't even notice I said anything.
ME: "Like I said, you can talk to Daniel right over there. See, that metal box? Go talk to him. He's the manager on duty."
ME: "Right there. Black guy. Blue shirt. Dark brown pants. Holding the radio."
ME: Make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave ....
I officially had craptastic karma all this weekend.