The Long Wait

There you are, standing at the back of an eight-person line.  The register is only fifteen feet away.  Might as well be fifteen miles.  You try pretending like it's not that bad.   That of course fails.  A series of sighs and groans leave your mouth.  Under your breath, of course.

All you have is a gallon of milk.  You've needed this milk all week, but you thought, "I can wait.  I've got all week."  Now the week's over.  Way to go.  I guess you didn't learn your lesson from that one time you had all week to get gas.

You look down at your now lukewarm milk, and look back up.  Seriously, has the line gotten longer, or something?  Everyone in front of you has a full cart.  Well, not everyone.  Mr. Wellfare Check right in front of you has two carts.  Now's the time you wonder how much you even like milk.

Fifteen minutes pass.  Another fifteen more.  Now the only person in front of you is the able-bodied man on disability.  It hits you that you are paying for his groceries.  Try to resist the urge to throw your milk at the back of his head.

Hey, at least there are people behind you now.  You're not the low man on the totem pole anymore.

It's been twenty minutes, and the clerk is only three-quarters of the way through his first cart.  Also, your dependent has naturally been contesting the price nearly every item the cashier has scanned.  No, you're not dead and in hell, you're just losing your sanity.

All hope seems lost.  You're considering getting on your knees and praying, but wait.  What's that to your right?  They just turned the light on for the Ten-Items-Or-Less aisle!  Hallelujah!  You run for the register like a dog for a fire hydrant.  You smack your gallon of milk on the counter, marking your territory.  You glance back at the other register, and see everyone you left behind.  On their faces are are expressions of jealously, and of, "Did he really just run like that?"  As if you care.  It just makes you feel even more triumphant.

Well, you paid for your milk, got your bag, and are now on your way out.  The thought of flipping off the guy with the two carts crosses your mind.  You decide against it.  He may not actually be disabled, but you don't want to be known as the person who shot the bird at a man on welfare.

Okay, you've had enough of this place.  Just please, for the sake of everything that is holy, don't forget about the milk ever again.


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