I don't particularly enjoy grocery shopping. I try to spend as little time as possible between the IN and the OUT doors - it's boring as shit to begin with. And the chore is never helped by the Slow Waltz of the Geezer Zombies. You know that dance- the fuckers get inside a supermarket & immediately downshift to half-speed, which in consideration of their usual slothlike pace is about as close to motionless as they can get. The blue-haired bitches seem to enjoy browsing the canned goods, examining every fucking label and price tag, diligently sleuthing out the killer deal on canned peas this week. Just wish they'd do it from one side of the aisle or another, instead of obliviously blockading the center....but of course they drive shopping carts just like they do their Medicaremobiles on the street, so I needn't go into that. So I get finished with my emergency-essentials run and queue up in a regular line - unfortunately, my hand-basketful exceeds the 10-count Express minimum. I'm mindlessly thumbing thru People magazine to kill time and barely notice the wizened hag who wheels to a stop behind me with a full cart. After awhile, a cashier coming on duty strolls by and says, "Sir? I can take you over here". So I go to replace the magazine before following her, and I fumble a bit getting it back into the rack (elapsed time: 4 seconds). By the time I've picked up my basket to move to the adjacent checkout line, Mad Maxine behind me has already gotten her cart turned and in motion to cut in front of me. WTF is this?!? One front wheel bumps against my foot, and I put my free hand firmly on the front of her cart to completely halt its progress as I slip sideways past it to the new checkout. I wasn't amused at her cutely attempted maneuver, and snap, "I was next". Maxine frowns at my impertinence; the cashier tries to conceal a smile. Then I took my sweet fucking time on the debit-card keypad.
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Emetic: I don't particularly enjoy grocery shopping. I try to spend as little time as possible between the IN and the OUT doors - it's boring as shit to begin with. And the chore is never helped by the Slow Waltz of the Geezer Zombies. You know that dance- the fuckers get inside a supermarket & immediately downshift to half-speed, which in consideration of their usual slothlike pace is about as close to motionless as they can get. The blue-haired bitches seem to enjoy browsing the canned goods, examining every fucking label and price tag, diligently sleuthing out the killer deal on canned peas this week. Just wish they'd do it from one side of the aisle or another, instead of obliviously blockading the center....but of course they drive shopping carts just like they do their Medicaremobiles on the street, so I needn't go into that. So I get finished with my emergency-essentials run and queue up in a regular line - unfortunately, my hand-basketful exceeds the 10-count Express minimum. I'm mindlessly thumbing thru People magazine to kill time and barely notice the wizened hag who wheels to a stop behind me with a full cart. After awhile, a cashier coming on duty strolls by and says, "Sir? I can take you over here". So I go to replace the magazine before following her, and I fumble a bit getting it back into the rack (elapsed time: 4 seconds). By the time I've picked up my basket to move to the adjacent checkout line, Mad Maxine behind me has already gotten her cart turned and in motion to cut in front of me. WTF is this?!? One front wheel bumps against my foot, and I put my free hand firmly on the front of her cart to completely halt its progress as I slip sideways past it to the new checkout. I wasn't amused at her cutely attempted maneuver, and snap, "I was next". Maxine frowns at my impertinence; the cashier tries to conceal a smile. Then I took my sweet fucking time on the debit-card keypad.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> nice, however.. the reason why old people, take thier time/block aisles/generally talk to much/forget things(on purpose) is because they never get treated like your average thirthy-something shopper, which, if you think about it, is a bit like the chicken and the egg.. fuck it, i think we should just kill our old folks, i mean the cycle is clear: birth childhood adulthood uselessness death so why bother keeping them alive when they cant contribute to society, its like what you were getting at a few posts ago about pregnancy leave and returning to work without passing through the channels everyone else has to.. I think we should do to old folks what we do to sick or dying animals and quietly put them to sleep. and then bury them in about 8 feet of earth and some crazy paving.. anyway, shoot me when i get old somebody...please
You are so right, Emetic. I think we've all had experiences like that. I know I have. I hate the way they take up an entire isle with their cart. I just fly through demolition-style and laugh despite myself as their Geritol slings to the other side of their cart, careening into their store-brand Ensure. But what I really hate are the unsupervised children. Actually, I hate the supervised children too, come to think about it. Here's my story... A little blond-haired boy who looked like he shoulda been in school, darted in front of my cart, startling me. So naturally, I use my favorite 'public obsentity' "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" (I find it the most offensive... damn christians!) His ugly-ass food stamp grubbing whore of a mother thought she'd pipe up with, "Do you have a problem?" I don't know what the bitch was thinking because she seemed unprepared for what I said next. "Yes. I have a problem. Why don't you put that piece of shit on a leash?!!" She just looked at me. Her son stared at me in awe. I glared at the both of them, whipped my cart around and headed for the oranges that I was being kept from purchasing in the first place. Needless to say, the whole fucking produce section stayed away from my ass that day.
Kids and shopping definately don't mix. I was stoked when I got a job at the local school, 10min from home. But then the reality set in. The local shopping centre is also 10min from both. As if shopping wasn't bad enough, now whenever I go there I am guarenteed to run into at least 10 kids from school. "HELLO MISS!!!" they scream at the top of their lungs from across the complex. Everyone turn round to see who miss is. "Hay Miss, can I push your trolly?" "Gee Miss, don't you know smoking causes cancer?" "Have you been crying Miss? How come your eyes are so red?" "Mum, come say hello to Miss" "Oh so your Johhny's teacher, I've been meaning to talk to you about his reading.." Grrrrrr Make a fuckin appointment! I'm not paid to be nice to you people out of hrs!! Leave me alone. I now shop at the complex on the other side of town.
don't you teach mongoloids anyways? I hate when people take those mental rejects out in public. Well they do give me something to laugh at I guess
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by PinkorBrown69: And why the fuck do they always tell you how old they are? I'm 84 you know...<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> I think it's because they can't quite believe that they've made it this far in life without getting killed. Either that or they have to constantly remind themselves that they still are alive!
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by PimpDaddy: hahaha... YOU complaining about old people emetic?? your hardly a spring chicken gramps<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Look! He comes up for a brief gulp of fresh air before resuming his plumbing the hideous depths of his darky ho's stinkhole! Inhale long and deeply, m'boy - you'll need it. You're just envious of my vast and unassailable wealth of knowledge and experience. Granted, such does make me appear advanced well beyond my actual years.
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Emetic: WTF is this?!? One front wheel bumps against my foot, and I put my free hand firmly on the front of her cart to completely halt its progress as I slip sideways past it to the new checkout. I wasn't amused at her cutely attempted maneuver, and snap, "I was next". Maxine frowns at my impertinence; the cashier tries to conceal a smile.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> You sly devil, you. I once nearly knocked over some line-cutting old bat with an Army duffel bag in a Greyhond bus station. I was headed back home from NY and had to make a tight transfer in Cinncinati. It was a 2 hour layover in the wee hours of the morning, but it was peak season so the place was packed; so I decided to forego chainsmoking in lieu of staking out a place in line. I eventually made smalltalk with a few people around me and managed to slip out for a smoke or two while they held my spot. As soon as they announced that our bus was to begin boarding shortly, this fractured second line of lazy senior citizens and welfare vacationers suddenly formed near the head of ours. They were really aggressive, too, and used their luggage and/or kids to push closer to the gate. I was not amused, nor was I willing to spend any more time in Ohio than absolutely necessary. I quickly pointed out what was happening to my comrades in the bona fide line; and using my keen leadership skills, I pumped-up an impromptu vagabond militia. Most of my soldiers made out of there, the ones with the cajones to use their knees, elbows, and hard stares anyway. For some reason, most budgers don't stand up well to direct eye contact or verbal confrontation - [/i]my forte[/i]. Still, I was surprised that Old Mother Hubbard had the brass to try the old "I'll just nonchalantly put my suitcase in front of yours so I'll be next" routine with me. I guess she figured my bag was too cumbersome to be moved quickly.... she figured wrong. As soon as the guy in front of me had begun to make his move for the door, I whisked up that heavy motherfucking duffel bag like it was filled with feathers and swung it into her, blocking her grab for her case, and knocking her back into the other line cutting freeloading assholes. She tried to get huffy but nobody, including the ticket taker, was buying it. I told her that she should be ashamed of herself, and sauntered out the door. Why is it that old people think they deserve to be treated special? People with a litter of kids are even worse.
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Driven home by Ambitious Procrastinator: Why is it that old people think they deserve to be treated special?<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> chicken? egg? they wont treat us nice unless we treat them nice, but we wont because they arn't..uhh..go figure
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Disorder: chicken? egg? they wont treat us nice unless we treat them nice, but we wont because they arn't..uhh..go figure<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> I don't have a problem giving up my seat on a crowded city bus to some pathetic old codger who manages to crawl aboard. And I hand out the same genuinely fake smile to strangers of all ages, races and economic standing. But I do have a problem with people who haven't yet grasped the concept that there's this thing called inflation, rendering 25 cents an insufficient tip for any type of service.
I thought we we're talking about old people acting childish..but I guess we can balme them for inflation too..
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Disorder: ..but I guess we can balme them for inflation too..<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> ...and inflate them with embalming fluid... Hey, speaking of stiffs, which do you think would be a better Afghani investment: Pine boxes, shovels, or lye-by-the-barrel?
<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>Imprecisely theorized by Disorder: chicken? egg? they wont treat us nice unless we treat them nice, but we wont because they arn't...<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> No, it's not a matter of contradictive breakdown in the Golden Rule. It's more a matter of their seeming mental regression back to childhood: stunning lack of spatial awareness; proclivity to babble on about boring, irrelevant subjects; and a tendency to injure themselves from falls as well as spotty control of their bowels and bladders. But whereas children at least theoretically hold the promise of one day becoming interesting and useful, there is no such payoff to wizening pensioners. They're all on that long Bataan Death March, and too frequently fail to arrive until after a protracted, bankrupting flirtation with modern medical technology...only they're not the ones who ultimately pay for it - we do. Yet they feel entitled to their handicapped parking spaces and lousy senior-citizen discounts on their Egg McFuckingMuffins, and expect the able-minded and -bodied to extend them some kinda noblesse oblige that hasn't been seen since the French Louies had their heads handed to them centuries ago. And it's only gonna get worse over the next couple decades - at least here in the U.S., as that huge, distended demographic turd known as the Baby Boomers (1945-1960 or so)continue to pass thru the Social Security colon, cramping along on the weakening squeezes of us Baby Busters. The AARP (American Assoc. of Retired Persons) is already the largest & one of the most influential special-interest groups. They don't have to recruit very hard - all they have to do is wait. And they have a naturally sympathetic ally in Congress, most of whom are already developing liver spots and shiny pates, and are already well-acquainted with preferential/deferential treatment. Yep, it's looking uglier by the minute, folks, and I don't have the solution.
well I had one, but that would require too many resources and effort, and then more resources and effort when we want to dispose of the body... whos idea was it to enforce gun control anyway?.. that would sort out all our problems and keep the animal protection groups happy
..hmm, that would pose an entirely different problem. As under my law, the wizend one Sir Charlton, would be classed as an OAP and thus a reward offered for the immediate termination of his oxygen wasting lifecycle. He has made some great films, that can be said, but lets remember him as an actor, rather than a gibbering bed ridden wreckage. SOoo this means one thing.. to relax gun laws a little, we need to remove the wizend one from the frameset...but how? *glances at IMC* how far away is Sir Charlton from the Schoolbook Depository?? aaah memories
I'm shocked at your reply on several counts: do you not know that Sir C is currently the president of the NRA (Nat'l Rifle Assoc) here? Whose core mission is to beat off the gun-grabbers who would prevent innocent consumers like you and I (well, just me - you're out of this equation) from purchasing whatever hand-sized projectile-powered anti-thug dissuasive device I deem necessary and desirable (as well as side-splitting fun for an alcoholic afternoon of squirrel-plinking)? No, on that count alone he earns exception to the rule. Furthermore, I'm quite sure he constitutes a net positive financial effect to this country from all the taxes he pays on that fat boodle I know he's sitting on. Finally, were he to ever reach the sad point of unacceptable frailty, I'm sure he's honorable enough to employ one of his own steel companions in taking his own life. In fact, I'd bet he could get off 2 shots, like a real man.
