I am August, Destroyer of Worlds...

Hail and well met, fair reader!

Hark now to the tale of the Unprepared Heathen and the Line of Devastation...

The journey to the supermarket was much like any other had been in the past. A list of necessary provisions was written, containing everything that a bachelor and his faithful canine sidekick would need. From the selection of meat to dog food to the ever important suitcase of beer, I loaded the cart with a speed not witnessed in many a day.

After all, the grocery store is a place of commerce that does not rank high on my personal list of entertaining things to do after work. Navigating through the throngs of families, blue-haired grandmothers and the odd assortment of people who go shopping in their pajamas - at seven o'clock in the evening.

Still, the grocery store is a necessary evil. One cannot live on Arby's alone, at least that's what they tell me at McDonalds.

I surged ahead through the aisles, chucking food items and other merchandise into the cart's gaping maw. As I rounded the last corner I reviewed the list one last time. Woe to me if I had forgotten anything and had to make another trip.

Meat? Check.
Rice? Check.
Pasta? Dr. Pepper? Frozen Pizzas? Check, check and check.

My next task was to choose a line. From my experience, the shorter lines are usually short for a very good reason.

Usually a short line means a slow cashier or that the person at the head of the line is a troublemaker. Troublemakers mean waits for the customer service manager. Troublemakers mean coupons or screaming children who are beyond pissed because Mom or Dad failed to buy them the candy or treat of their choice.

Frankly, who could blame the parents? It's not like the kid deserves it by behaving like a total jackass. Let them eat apples, I say.

But I digress.

I passed checkout line after checkout line, much like a snipe hunter stalking his quarry. Whichever line I chose was bound to take a long time and while my search may once again prove fruitless I would at least be comforted by the fact that I had tried.

I chose a line that only had two people in it. The customer at the front was finishing their transaction, which was a good sign. The customer right before me was a youngish guy, with brownish hair stuffed beneath a hat that had a silhouette of a lounging girl. The kind of lounging girl that reminded me of some of the mudflaps that I've seen on several eighteen wheelers.

Most young guys, especially those who are the type to wear silhouettes of lounging females, usually don't put up much of a fuss at the grocery store. The number one goal of such guys was to get in and out of there as quickly and with as little fuss as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, this was not one of these guys.

I stared blankly at the rows and rows of chewing gum as the cashier uttered a friendly word of greeting. The guy muttered an unintelligible reply and began to stare closely at the register's monitor as the cashier began to drag items across the barcode scanner.

Eggs *beep*
Bacon *beep*
Toilet Paper *beep*
Condoms *beep*
Swiffer Pads *beep*

"Now wait just a minute!" he protested suddenly, "those things were only $4.95 a box over there, not $4.99!"

I looked over briefly at the guy to see if what was going on was what I thought it was and quickly lost interest as I began to seethe in silence. 'Shit, here we go,' I thought to myself as I returned to staring at the assortment of candy and gum, 'another time-consuming haggle over $0.04. Fantastic.'

The cashier cleared her throat slightly. "You sure, sir?" she asked, with a look of discomfort on her face. That was odd. Usually you didn't see cashiers get a look of discomfort on their faces whenever a customer disputes the scanned price. Usually, they adopt a look of polite loathing.

Then I looked up to see what item that the fuss was about. It may be just me but usually one tends to be a little more discrete about purchasing "protection." Needless to say, I was floored at the guy's rather cavalier attitude. One usually looked away or adopted an innocent look on ones' face as the box of Trojans slides across the conveyor belt, not to go on an all-out hissy fit over $0.04.

The guy set his jaw in a stern look that had a vague resemblance to someone who had just eaten a rather large stick that was bound to eventually lodge itself firmly inside their arse.

"Yeah, I'm quite sure, maaaa'mm" he replied gruffly, sarcastically stretching out the honorific for effect, "I bought the same box for the four cents cheaper yesterday."

Well, I was impressed. Impressed at how much of a jackass that this particular jackass was. 'Just pay the four cents and leave, dude,' I prayed to myself. I felt sorry for whatever girl saddled up with this star.

On second thought, he probably just bought them because he was a psychotic clown murderer at night. That thought frightened me, so I directed my pity towards the cashier who was obviously not impressed.

"Whatever," she muttered as she punched the keypad, deducting the four cents. Her hands seemed to have doubled in speed, flying across the scanner as quickly as she grabbed another item. She wanted this guy out of her line as quickly as possible.

She flipped her hair and glared at the guy. "That'll be $140.38, sir," she said flatly, all business now.

"Oh, wait, I've got coupons!" he chirruped as he jammed his hand in his right pocket and produced a thick wad of ragged coupons from within. 'Of course you do,' I sighed quietly as I shook my head slightly in disgust.

Another few minutes passed as the cashier silently scanned her way through the pile. By this time, the line behind us had grown by another four people. I suffered in silence as the neighboring lines moved along with speedy precision. I had all the luck.

"WAIT!" he protested, "I thought that coupon was 'buy two get one free' on those pot pies!"

An audible sigh came from behind me as the other customers began to grow restless. We would all benefit if this guy was suddenly whisked away by a band of trained ninjas. If only the grocery chains of the world would employ such personnel for times just like these.

The cashier began to sort through the pile before pulling the coupon out that was in question. "No, sir, the coupon only says one dollar off any pot pie. See?"

She passed the coupon over for inspection. The guy studied it as if it were an ancient text of cultural significance. "Yep, you're right. My bad."

The cashier finished the pile and stabbed the 'enter' key on her keypad. "That'll be $136.59," she said flatly.

"Oh, wait! I need a book of stamps!" he growled, "and a pack of Marlboro Reds, if you've got any."

She retrieved the cigarettes and stamps and scanned them as well. "$146.23," was all she said as she stabbed the 'enter' key a little more aggressively than before.

The guy fished in his pocket again. He was looking for something and couldn't find it. He mashed his hands into his other pockets, also without success. "Um," he sighed, "I left my checkbook in the car."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" spat a rather annoyed voice from behind me. Good to know I wasn't the only one considering violence at this point.

"I'll be back in a minute, I swear!" he barked as he began to sprint towards the door, "it's in the car!"

We stood in silence. The cashier offered us a look that said, "Sorry, but you see what I have to put up with?"

She glanced at the time again. At precisely one minute, she turned to me and grinned devilishly, "Well, a minute has come and gone. He swore he'd be back in a minute and, well, he didn't keep his promise now did he?"

"I find no fault with that logic," I grinned back, "for someone as precise as that you'd think he'd be a little more timely."

A few muted chuckles rose from the rest of the line. She casually moved his purchases to the side and began to scan mine as quickly as she could. What had taken the guy ahead of me a total of twelve minutes only took me three.

As I loaded up my car, I could see that the guy had returned and was apparently not amused. I could see through the window that he was informing the manager that it would be a cold day in Hell before he ever shopped at THIS store again.

Ah, if only that was true.