I am going to take the time to go on another one of my rants. I hope anyone who reads this doesn’t mind… So, have you ever gone food shopping? Of course, everyone has. However, have you ever taken the time to look around the store once you pick up your crate? Probably so, but if not, you’ve done this subconsciously nonetheless. Anyway, once you get the crate, have you ever realized the competition that takes place after? It’s what I like to call “Crate Racing.” I don’t care who you are, but there has always been an instance, when in a food store, when you and everyone around you, locks eyes…right before all hell breaks loose. As you stroll through the produce isle and steadily glance at all the shit you SHOULD buy, you are strategically thinking of how to get to the sweets isle as soon as possible. Then, right as you are about to Mapquest the answer, you see the guy next to you. As you both lock eyes as if to consent to battle like Mountain Rams, he leans in for the bananas. As you are putting down the candy corn you just “happened” to pick up, he is storing his penis-shaped health bars into his crate. As you stutter and flail the candy corn like a bag of burning coal, you reach down in reflex…and pull out the squash. As his penis-shaped fruit chirps my penis-shaped (whatever a squash if classified as), we swiftly turn away from one another, searching for what health item to stash next. Before you know it, your crate is full of all the things you were making fun of your neighbor for gardening, and so is the other guy’s. However, as you glance at your opponent you can see the fear in both of your eyes. As you both stand side by side at the checkout line, it hits the both of you like a big bag of…other penis-shaped objects. You both never realized, through your zombie-like raid of the produce section, that you both lost this battle. As item by healthy item gets yanked through the scanner like a duck with a boner dragging seaweed, the numbers on the register keep going up. As the “fear sweat” begins to cuff your brow, you wave the white flag, or in this case, one of those white bags, to signal your surrender. Right after you stuff the one ice cream you put in the crate (before entering this duel), into the bagged rice isle (smooth move Exlax), his victory dance begins to take fold. As I hang my head in shame, he reaches up (motioning to a shelf), clenches his fist as if to grab an item, and “Gronk’s” the imaginary item into his crate. I left this place with what little dignity I had left from this hard-fought loss. On the way out I happened to find a mealy six dollars in my other pocket. Pissed that I could have bought another pound of red onions with that, I shrug it off and buy three Powerball tickets. All I know, is when I hit this ticket tonight, that guy is gonna be pissed when he sees my crate next time.
Posted on: Thu, 19 Sep 2013 00:21:55 +0000