yj-Chips_NoArrow

At some point, everyone’s job has stress.  From brain surgeon to garbage collector, from rocket scientist to newspaper delivery…everyone has stress at work occasionally.  One just hopes that the brain surgeon isn’t unhappy with her pay or is ticked at her hubby when she’s cutting on YOUR brain.  Know what I mean?

The other day I stopped at a grocery store chain (to protect the innocent let’s just call it Tiny Finch) to pick up some groceries, including the biggest staple in our house next to toilet paper, chips and salsa. Now, typically I use the DIY check-out line so that I don’t have to hear about the dating woes of the high-school-aged cashiers.  But, this day, I happened to choose an open check-out lane with a woman who looked like she might chat it up about bingo dobbers or the health benefits of monthly enemas.

Well… as it turns out I got the line of a retired MMA woman fighter who seemed to be in a foul mood about working on the day before the Labor Day holiday.  The frown, the growling.. all telling me what I already know…”You should plan for this stuff a little earlier ya know? It’s not like Labor Day isn’t on the calendar EVERY FRICKIN’ YEAR!”

But the worst part of the experience was how she handled my tortilla chips.  She seemed to apply her MMA ground-and-pound-ass-over-tin-cups-body-slam-from-the-top-rope technique to my chips and by the time they reached the bagger, they were’ pretty much tortilla sand! I was deathly afraid of calling her attention to my bag of broken tortilla dreams.

Hey MMA-Mad-Mama….sorry that you hated work that day.  Sorry that you felt the need to take your frustration regarding my lack of picnic planning skills out on my poor little tortilla chips.  The good news is, those chips survived being made, packed in a bag, put into a box, put on a pallet, moved to your store, removed from the box, placed on a shelf and possibly even being dropped on the grocery store floor by an unattended bratty kid.  The bad news is, by the time you were moving them the 5 feet from your scanner to the bagger-person, they looked like a bag of chips that I got from a vending machine that was 75 stories tall and they were on the top row and fell 1,000 feet per second to the bottom.

Thanks for the tiny chips…I’ll be sure to share them with my Ken and Barbie dolls, Ya Jagoff!

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