CRS
Chandler, Arizona, United States

There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
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The Ghetto Lady and Her Flesh Depository

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

this entry brought to you by tool, "the pot"


Once, while I was cashiering at Target, I had the most ghetto black family imaginable come up to my register. The mother wasn't older than 30, and she was absolutely enormous. She couldn't have weighed less than 300 pounds. She was dressed in a spaghetti strapped blue shirt with way too much skin exposed, some tiny shorts that gave her a painful-looking wedgie, and her gigantic hoofs were squeezed into a pair of pumps too small for her feet. She looked like she came out of Al Bundy's nightmares. She had four children with her, aged between 10 and 3, the youngest with some sort of pasty food smeared on his face and had gotten in his hair. And all five of them were making enough noise to drown out a barn full of starving animals.

I remember they were buying nine or ten items, all clearanced, mostly children's clothes, and the total was something like $13.35. "How much is it?" she asked, disapprovingly. I repeated the total and she groaned. It was at this moment I realized she was not carrying a purse nor seemed to have any pockets, and right when I wondered where she'd be retrieving her money to pay for her merchandise, she surreptitiously raised her hand, went up under her shirt, beneath her bra, and fished out dollar bills, reaching out to hand them to me.

"Here," she said, pointedly.

I hesitated. I did not, more than anything in the world right then, want to touch that money. But how was I supposed to say no? I could just stick with what every fiber of my being was pleading for me to say, "I'm sorry, that's unsanitary," which would have been reason for this massive woman to cause a scene, or I could just swallow, grit my teeth, and take the money. I hated myself for it, but I chose the latter, and the instant I did I regretted it. The bills were wadded up, hot, sticky, and damp. When bills get moist they turn rather squishy. I uncrumpled them, hoping to the Lord that I wouldn't accidentally get a waft of whatever they smelled like, counting 13 dollars. I was going to ask for the remainder, but as I opened my mouth her hand went under the other mass of flesh under her bra, probed around for a moment, and produced a hot, tacky quarter and dime. That's right, she gave me exact change. This woman's boob was a piggy bank. And now, through some unholy reasoning, she didn't see anything wrong with sharing the wealth of her flesh depository. I rang her up as quickly as I could and gave her a receipt, heading to the bathroom post-haste to wash my hands, horrified. I'd gotten some pretty gross families wandering through Target before, but these people, I'm not sure if they were even human.
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on this day last year a review of nine inch nails, with teeth. i'm very, very proud of it. one of the better reviews i've written.
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with love from CRS @ 11:48 AM 

1 Comments:

Not sure if my last comment took because I am running a script blogger. But basically I pointed and laughed! Great retelling by the way.

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