I HAD to rush in to the grocery this afternoon. I generally try to avoid the quote Express end quote Line, but there was no choice this time, and as a result I was, predictably, stuck two persons behind the woman who read her receipt all the way to the exit, spun around, and came back to announce she'd been overcharged. Which, predictably, she hadn't, and which, predictably, takes four times as long to establish than if she had.
This did nothing to ameliorate the high viscosity service in the quote Express end quote Line due to its being manned by Gabby (not her real name, but definitely her real description), who mistakes making random comments about your selections for "personality", which, evidentally, the store manager has urged her to both acquire and share. This took the form in my own case of the following exchange:
Gabby (scanning my twofer pack of ribeyes): These'd be great on the grill!
Me (inaudibly): I'm so glad you mentioned that. I was gonna take 'em home and boil 'em for a couple hours.
Anyway, the delay provided enough time for two twenty-something Jeopardy! contestants to turn up, each towing a case of warm Bud. After a brief period spent determining which character Sacha Baron Cohen had played in Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby, ("I'm pretty sure he was the French guy.") inspired by the $8.99 Borat DVD hanging on the rack, the talk turned to the possible life-threatening results of consuming all that Bud in a sitting.
"You could go out and get shot in the woods."
"Yeah, especially if you went hunting with that Dave Cheney guy."