Harassment on Aisle 5.

Place: Brookshire’s on Line Ave
Date: Some time last week. (I think.)

So I figured I’d reward myself for going to the gym that one time last week by going to the grocery store and purchasing a gigantic tube of Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough. (I wasn’t going to be selfish—it’s never a problem to find someone willing to eat them, too.) I head up to the checkout and wait behind a poor woman whose kids will NOT shut up begging for random crap. I stroll ahead when she’s out of my way (thank you, Jesus) and place my dough and milk (fat free, natch) on the conveyer belt. The young cashier-guy pulls them across the scanner, gives me a look and says, “It’s going to be one of THOSE nights, eh?”. while winking.
I hate this guy.
My first instinct is to turn beet red and tear out of the store, but I figure I need to pay for this stuff—being tackled by the old policeman at the door would be even more embarrassing. I then consider politely telling him to just bag my groceries and mind his beeswax.
What I end up doing is shrugging my shoulders and saying “guess so.”

Place: That same G-D Brookshire’s
Date: Last Night (Valentine’s Day)

I hadn’t made any plans for Valentine’s (other than lunch with other single girls), so when suppertime came around and I remembered that all I had was Ramen noodles and I didn’t want those, I headed back to Brookshire’s. I would like to note that I was feeling especially festive and threw on my red-glittered “Dorothy” peep toe stilettos Katy bought me (thanks, Katy!). I am feeling good about that until I'm hit on by a "bag-boy" who looks to be all of 17 and who makes a sucking noise through his teeth to entice me. After a silent prayer that the same cashier would have the night off, I marched up to the check-out with actual groceries this time. Most of my basket was filled with Amy’s Organic frozen foods and lean stuff, but I decided it was Valentine’s, dammit—I should be able to enjoy some sour straws and random marked-down chocolate goodness. This time, the checker-guy was a manager, so I’m safe (or so I think). He swiped the bar codes and made polite conversation…until he felt the need to add, “Haha—I thought you were eating pretty healthy until I got to the bottom of your basket.”
What the hell?!
I wanted to grind my little stilettoed heels into his shins for that, but instead I laugh to myself and find solace in the knowledge that in a few minutes, I’ll be watching Lost on my couch, drinking wine and twexting the framily…where I’ll be safe from such ridicule.

Bottom line: I hate Brookshire’s.