Thursday, February 01, 2007

Edging Closer to Old Fartdom

After two beers at the local tavern last evening, I headed home. En route, I stopped at Giant to pick up some necessities (cat food, tortillas, another bottle of skin lotion 'cause I'm DYING of dry skin here) After rambling up and down the aisles, impulsively throwing random shit in my cart, I happened into produce world. What appeared to my wandering eye, but a couple of kids. She was facing him, and he was propped up against the citrus fruit section, with his hands in the back pockets of her jeans, holding her close and kind of rubbing back and forth. They were gazing into each other's eyes with that look that only teenage lust can produce. (ha. get it? produce-fruit-produce? asshole)
Anyway, I thought, "Get a room" and carried on. It was only when I came around the other side of the display to ogle the seven dollar oranges that I noticed the girl was wearing a Giant employee shirt! So Miss Thang was supposed to be working, but instead was playing bump and grind with her hunny.

To my great dismay, this annoyed me. I really don't want teenage hormones raging all over my bananas, or groping going on in front of kids in carts (OH THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!) But I decided I wasn't going to say anything. I rolled my eyes and headed to the self checkout lane (The only way to go kiddies, it usually cuts down on Stupid dramatically)

As I was checking out, the male groper rolled up front, talking really loud, and yukking it up with all the employees. Apparently he's a Giant employee too. Now THAT pissed me off. He was giggling and tee-heeing with his buds around the cash registers, and as I was signing my credit slip at the checkout, I said to the woman (Over the age of fifteen, much to my relief) "Someone ought to tell him that making out with his girlfriend in the produce section isn't really cool." "WHAT?!" said the lady, "If she was wearing an employee shirt, that isn't right." Yeah, no kidding. I just said, "I didn't think so either, but it's not really a big deal. Someone ought to just mention it to them." "Oh" she said, "I'll get the manager so you can complain and he'll do something about it. If I say anything, they'll think I'm making it up" (huh?) "Oh no, no, don't need to do that, but you should just mention it. I don't want to sound like an old fart." "No, it's not right, and you should talk to the manager. I'll get him to come down." Aw shit. I don't need to talk to some pimple head manager about two dummies necking by the nectarines. "No, thats fine. Why don't you just mention it to the kid next time you see him. I'm in a hurry." "Okay, but they won't listen to me" whatever. Just get me the flock out of there.

As I drove home, I pondered this. I have a feeling I'm going to be one of those old people that shakes her cane and yells, "Those damn kids!" and I've been trying to figure out exactly when I started to become one of the people we used to make fun of.


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