The grocery store checkout round up

This story eventually winds its way around to a grocery store.

The other day I received this little nugget in my Inbox:

You may however, make me popcorn later if you’re good to me.
–Email from the Mrs.

It’s nice to have something to look forward to. I was going to be allowed to make popcorn if I behaved well enough. Oh boy!

Someone was hankerin’ for popcorn. On Friday night it didn’t quite work out, but Saturday it finally did. Here’s how it happened.

Saturday morning we woke up and headed out to the country to hit the fresh produce stands. The first stand didn’t have any tomatoes, but the second one did. They were also unloading corn from a truck which had just been filled in the field next door. Four ears of the freshest possible corn for only a buck. Yes!

Next up I found myself in a comfy chair, flipping through a book (Bloggers Boot Camp), surfin’ the WiFi with my iPod touch, and sipping on a fancy coffee from Starbucks. In other words, we drove 30 miles to the big city and visited the fancy bookstore. It was just like being at home. Almost. I resisted the urge to take off my pants and read in my underwear.

The book was awesome. It basically negatively confirmed everything about my blog. In other words, all the things it said you should never do basically comprise my mission statement. Conversely, most of the things you should do are things I avoid like the plague. It was nice to get that sort of un-validation regarding my efforts.

I'm metroplexual. I get strange feelings in movie theaters.

— Tom B. Taker (@shoutabyss) October 1, 2011

Carpeting in the Metroplex I noticed while waiting for someone to visit the restroom.

Next we headed to the fancy big city metroplex to see a movie. As we purchased our tickets and ventured inside, both of us were on high alert looking for dogs. Fortunately, this time, none were seen.

The movie was Drive starring someone named Ryan Gosling. He plays a Hollywood stunt driver (part-time) and also takes wheelman jobs and ends up getting a contract put out on him by some mobsters. He really likes to drive. The movie wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. It had less driving scenes than you’d think and was basically a mob movie. The Gosling fellow did a good job and the movie is interestingly paced. It’s almost like things moved at real time. It worked well and heightened the tension, I think. After the opening scene when someone shoots a lock, it is sometime until you hear a gunshot again, and when it comes again it sort of scares the shit out of you. My wife and I performed well in synchronized jumping.

Interestingly enough, we didn’t get any popcorn at the movies. So the hankerin’ continued. If the price of a small popcorn is equal to the ticket price for two admissions, we decide to opt-out. Go figure.

I kept my eyes peeled for loose women but none were found at the Irish pub.

After the movie we ended up at an Irish pub for a bit to eat. The place was dead but things were askew. Other tables were getting uppity and being delivered mistakes. The waitress was smooth, though, saying things like, “There’s only two guys in the kitchen. That’s why things are taking a while.”

We were debating going elsewhere when she showed up and convinced us to stay.

It was a bit of a surprise when the food and beers arrived quickly. I thought my fish and chips were good, but my wife’s were apparently not cooked right. Ugh.

All in all, it was a pretty good day. And I only ruined one thing. In light of the fact that I actually left the house, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.

We headed home to settle in for the evening.

And now, finally, popcorn weaves its way into the overwrought plot.

Eight o’clock at night and we were watching movies on TV. The Mrs. says, “It’s time for you to go make your world-famous popcorn.” I got started while she looked in the kitchen for the few things we’d need, like butter.

Oops. There is no butter. WTF? So there she went, 8pm on Saturday night, to the corner grocery store to buy butter. Yep. That’s the way we roll. We’re exciting people. She asked if we needed anything else. I yelled back, “Ice cream and beer!”

Naturally, when she returned home, she said she had a story to tell about the trip.

“Don’t tell me,” I quipped. “The checked made a joke about What’s For Dinner! He looked at butter, ice cream and beer. It’s too obvious,” I said.

I was wrong. She explained that the checker had asked if she’d like to “round up” her purchase to the nearest whole dollar for some sort of charity. Apparently she thought a bit too long about this, because the man standing in line behind her said, “Oh, come on! It’s for a worthy cause.”

Mothafuckas! This is where the shit goes sideways. First of all, how rude is it to ask someone for a charitable contribution in public??? I guess the grocery store likes putting people on the spot, eh? That will really make them give, right?

Hey, assholes. Listen up. I’m buying shit to shove down my gullet. I’m not out looking to change the world or get all socially conscious. We’re talking about butter, ice cream and beer for God’s sake!

And to you, the stranger in line – keep your filthy trap shut! You don’t know anything about us. You don’t know if we volunteer or have given to charity already. As a matter of fact, my wife has done plenty of both all year long.

Here’s a little tip to the rest of the world: I do not like being asked for money. The main reason? When it comes to my money, I have to ask: “Do you have any idea what I went through to get this???” That’s right! I spent 40 hours a week being treated worse than shit to get this tiny amount of spendable silver. Do not ask me for it. It is decidedly not for you. God help you if you ask.

When the grocery store asks me to round up, I happily say, “No.” I know what we’ve done and don’t need the public intimidation from a frickin’ grocery store or the public validation of giving to charity to appease the person standing in line behind me.

Stop asking and stick to the business of selling ridiculous overpriced, dangerously-bad-for-you processed foods.

Oh, and by the way, after all that, I found a stick of butter in the butter dish. Too bad she didn’t think to check there before going to the store! Mwuhahaha!

I find this sign from the Irish pub to be highly applicable to me.