Well, here I am again. I am actually working on a more transition-into-this-blog-blog but I have writer's block of it and need a break. So I am here talking about...(drum roll, please) that stupid punk cashier at the grocery store who makes you feel like you wanna chuck a big poop diaper in his waxed little face. Granted, we go to one of the most ghetto-fabulous, worst-service-ever-at-a-grocery-store-because-it's-ran-by-17-year-olds (no offense to 17 year olds) who all think they are the epitome of Chicano Shiznay with a name tag. Don't get me wrong--I've (sort of) been there: being so young and so not attached to many of the world's woes or even...anything going on in the real world...at all, for example, other than flirting with the female sackers and barking out tough-guy orders to the newbies who aren't fast enough "Ay-yi-yiee! What are you doing, Chewy? Do your job right--go push some baskets okay? It's Mexi-CAN, not Mexi-'I-don't-wanna'!" I love my heritage. We're just, so classy and humble...
So the store's being "remodeled" to look more...store-like and tasteful. Funny, the workers are still there though...So the whole store is upside down (diaper wipes were found next to Romance novels and Hallmark cards) and each aisle about half the size it used to be, and the produce section is now all fancy with the fruit on these super high wooden tables--much too high for us Hispanic folk. It looks like Hispanic Hobbit-Ville with all of us jumping up and down, having to ask the 17 year old Anglo moppers to get avocados down for us.
So, back to brooding Don Juan De Cashier Man: I go to get my groceries and after ringing up our gigantic bill (because our boys eat like they're preparing to go into deep space hybernation), my card won't go through for some reason. Anxiety creases my once wrinkle-free eyelids and I say, "Okay. Please run it again, I know there is money on it." [Obnoxious sigh from Don Juan De Cashier Man]. "What's going ON here?" barks Mullet Man from the back of the line (he spent the entire two hours I was wandering the store yelling--yelling I tell you--"What the f*** did they do with my TOMATO sauce?!") And now, I had the privilige of having him in my line. "Pardon me? Are you speaking to me?" I say with a smile dripping sweetly of anthrax. Mullet Man glares at me but goes back to talking on his phone. The register bleeps absurdly loud, announcing that the card didn't go through again. "Okay;" I say, "I'm sorry about this but can you please just hold my things up here while I call my husband?" I begin to dial Husband with all eyes and ears listening. Me: "Honey--the card's saying "not authorized." Honey: "Well then that means there wasn't that much money on the card." Me grinding my teeth together: "Um. Then WHY did you give me that card, Honey?" Honey: "Because I thought there'd be enough. Just come home and get the other card." Oh! SILLY ME! I'll just drive home and let 50 people in line chillax while I cruise home. I relay this to Don Juan and ask if he can just hold my stuff up there while I go get the other card with money on it. Don Juan: "[BIG heave of a sigh with agitation] Well if I did that, I'd have to void everything. Can't we just put it all back and you get it all again when you get back? It is your fault you don't have money on your card and plus, I'll be late for my lunch break." Did he say that? Did he really say that? Now I have my Mad Eyes on. In fact I kind of had a Garth moment and turned into a crazy pants. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, please oh please, watch Wayne's World the movie sometime. It's a classic to be sure)."Look son, I am aware this is frustrating. Once not so long ago, I had a job too but not now. So when you have three little kids, stretch marks, and no money, and you have to choose between light bulbs or cleaning sponges because you're too poor to have both, and did I say stretch marks?! Can you be a little patient? I just walked through your Maze of Madness for TWO hours to find this stuff so you're NOT putting it all back. VOID it please. P.S.--isn't it your JOB to do your job?!"
Don Juan De Cashier Man froze and looked very afraid of Psycho Grocery Mama. Manager Man came over and did the whole, "What seems to be the problem?" Needless to say, they held my groceries. I ran from the store exodus to the car looking like a person who shouldn't be able to run that fast without unhealthy palpitations, drove home real quick, got the other card, and repeated the running scene into the store. After making me wait almost twenty minutes to "find" the cart of groceries (I know, it must have been SO hard to spot an abandoned cart of $200 worth of groceries! Tough job!) I was finally re-rung up. When I got home I realized that we were charged about $50 less. When I called about it later the next day I was told, "Consider it providence. Sounds like you had it comin' to ya." I am pleased to say that it ended this way, though in some ways I would have rather just thrown a diaper pie in Don Juan's face, this way was much better for our finances however.

Moral of the story: stand your ground, stand firm, and definitely throw in as MANY uses of the words "stretch marks" as possible.