The Next Generation Will Have No Idea What A “Cashier” Is (Was)

23 01 2012

Today the self-checkout was working perfectly, but all she was buying were two boxes of Special K bars, which no one would consider an embarrassing purchase in the least.  Last time, when she had the jumbo box of heavy-flow tampons and a Durex Pleasure Pack (six kids was enough!) in the basket along with some shampoo, a carton of milk and some other odds and ends, the bar code scanner went on the fritz and a store employee had to come and reset the machine.  Of course, being not the sharpest tool in the shed, it took him some time to figure out how to get the damn thing up and running again, while the line of customers grew ever longer.  Mrs. Poopmonster could only wait there, mortified, imagining that all of the other shoppers must be silently judging her for liking to get freaky with the strawberry-flavored prophylactics.  How ironic that in trying to avoid embarrassment and avoid any human contact while purchasing such goods, she had ended up attracting the attention of most likely everyone in the store.  Murphy’s Law was quite the little bitch, she had thought.

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