Double Homicide

There was a long line at the neighborhood grocery deli counter on Monday evening. I've never experienced such congestion. Why was everyone there? I don't know. Who can explain such things? In fact, who can explain anything in a town where the lights go out inexplicably for 6 days in a row? WHO!? No one, that's who. Not even Jesus.

Anyway, I was in line behind two strapping young men, both of them wore running shorts and sneakers, both of them ordered the turkey and American cheese combo. (I think it is important to take note of details whenever possible.) While I was patiently waiting to order, a Spanish lady with a penchant for pastel lipliner approached the line, eyeing me suspiciously, checking to see how naive I looked. The answer? Very.

She did not get behind me to wait, where she belonged. NO. Of course, she was ABOVE standing in the OBVIOUS line that had formed. Instead, she chose an ambigious spot next to the line. This way, it looked as though she might be with one of the boys ahead of me or she might just be contemplating her options--ham or bologna? Swiss or Muenster??

As time went on and we stood and waited, she shot random bemused looks over at me, her heavily white eyelinered eyes dancing mysteriously. Maybe she knew how astounded I was at the excess of orange blush on her face, which was smeared up to her ears and beyond. Maybe not. Either way, I knew EXACTLY what this woman was up to. And of course, I was right.

When it was my turn to finally order, before I could even move up to the counter, the woman stepped casually in front of me and blurted out, "I need HAM! And that cheese! With the holes! I do not know the name! THERE! THAT ONE!" The poor young deli man opened his mouth to explain to her that I was next in line but in a fleeting moment of sainthood, I waved him off and mouthed, "It's okay".

Of course, this was all over the lady's head so she didn't even realize my gracious gesture. She didn't even see or acknowledge my WWJD? moment. WhatEVER! I at least wanted the satisfaction to grin smugly at her, a grin that would read, "You may have gotten your way, but I let you cut me, which makes me the better, prettier person here." But I was granted none of that. NONE!

But I was pleased with the way I maintained my composure. I was pleased with taking the high road. I was mostly pleased with the thought that ran through my head as it occurred, which was, "What's the heaviest thing I can grab and chuck at her head?" Alas, all that surrounded me was pita bread and a Catholic upbringing. And what was I seriously going to do anyway? Scream out, "SHE CUT ME!!!" like a 3rd grader in the lunchline, eagerly awaiting French bread pizza Friday? NO. I WAS NOT. Because I did that already in the 3rd grade, that's why.

Fast forward to a few days later, when I stopped into the local drugstore to grab some gum. It seems simple enough, doesn't it? Choose something spearminty, wait on the line like human beings do, hand over payment, walk back to work. But, no. Things are never so simple for me. I was cut in line AGAIN but this time by a Long Island girl with tight clothes and a terrible tan (I know! Redundancy!) who was purchasing a medium-sized bag of Sunchips and a Mountain Dew. If there's anything I despise, it's a member of my own race. Kudos to her though, for living up to her stereotype: cellphone in hand, she also requested a particular brand of cigarettes.

The clerk told her that they were out of that specific brand. Oblivious to THE ENTIRE WORLD, the girl put her hand on her hip and wondered aloud in a thick accent, "Well NOW what am I gonna do? I swea, really, what am I gonna do!? Those are, like, the only cigarettes I smoke!" The clerk showed her various options, as if demonstrating different vacuum models or tupperware. Filters, menthol, words I don't understand, but basically, the clerk should've just asked, "And how fast or slow do you want your lung cancer to progress?"

It was then that my thoughts took a downward spiral and I started to wonder morbid things, worse things than at the deli counter. I scanned my brain for Law & Order SVU episodes that may or may not have involved killing someone in line at the Duane Reade. My thoughts now weren't so much about the heaviest object I could throw but more about the consequences, "If I throw something, how much brain damage will I inflict?" I'm pretty sure this is why we learned logic in Mr. Scopa's 8th grade math class. If p then q=

IF I throw that beach umbrella at her, THEN she will shut the hell up.
IF I stab her with that pair of scissors, THEN I will go to jail.
IF I do indeed get arrested, THEN Mariska Hargitay will show up and BD Wong will counsel me and declare me mentally unstable.

The girl kept sighing heavily, eventually deciding on a pack of cigarettes that would "have to do". I thought she was all ready to leave but NOT BEFORE she picked up a pack of peanut butter cups and remarked to the clerk, "Oh my GAWD, did you guys know all your chawklit is melted? Like, all of it?"

For the record? This is Duane Reade, sweet cheeks, not to be mistaken for Godiva. There are clear differences. Personally, I think it would help you to lay off the chawklit not to mention the cigarettes, soda and Sunchips but HEY! That's just me, being totally 100% judgmental. I had a right to be. I JUST WANTED SOME GUM.

She finally decided she didn't need any chawklit and handed over a $10 bill for the rest of her wares. That's when I grabbed both the beach umbrella and the scissors and gauged out my own eyeballs. It's amazing the things you can blog about when you are completely blind.

This one time? Someone said I was totally "melodramatic" and had a tendency to "exaggerate" and "blow things out of proportion". Mom? I have no idea why on earth you would say those things about me but I'm really glad you don't have cancer! Kisses! The End.