Cesar and I walked into this supposed "Gourmet" grocery store the other night to get some olives for our obligatory Saturday night Sapphire dirty martinis. While the cheese selection sucked (no Saint Albray), the meat counter was closing (the bastards wouldn't divvy us up even a bit of prosciutto even though they should've been open for another 10 minutes), and the crackers were completely misplaced (by the cake mixes...come on now), they did have a decent selection of olives.
Since the cracker selection was somewhat of a bust and having just remembered that I had some blood orange-infused olive oil at my house, I headed over to the bread section to grab a loaf of French bread. Of course, there wasn't any. I approached the cash register and asked her if they had any French bread. Then, from out of seemingly nowhere, I hear this condescending squeaking sound.
"Ummm yeah, it's in the bread section," said the cashier at the next line, rolling her eyes as if to instead say, "You're a dumb bitch."
I look over and I sware to Krishna that one of the shrunken head extras from the Beetlejuice doctor's office scene was manning the cash register. I'm not kidding. I wish I had a camera, and I'm even considering going back (although I vowed to never return to the trashy "Gourmet" dump again).
Contrary to Beetlejuice's assumption, I'm not a total idiot.
"Yeah, clearly I already looked there." (Which, translated, means 'Look Beetlejuice, I cleaned my ear out this morning with something that resembles your mini-dome. Enough from you.')
Then, a halfway courteous employee offered to go get the person who worked in the bread section to help me out with my simple request. About 2 minutes later, we see him - the seeming halfway courteous employee - standing around shooting the shit with one of his slacker colleagues. So, we ask him if he got the bread person?
"Yep. She was already there waiting for you but you didn't come over so she left."
Are you kidding me?
Cesar kept urging me to go. He'd seen enough. I paid the quiet and surprisingly non-trash talkin' Chinese lady at my register and we were on our way.
Now, we're not your average highfalutin assholes per se—just a couple of individuals with expensive taste and no money. A little courtesy with our overpriced snacks would've been much appreciated. We were pissed off to say the least, but just acknowledging the size of this lady's head made us forgive her. I mean really, she's probably dealt with a lot of shit in her lifetime because of that thing. Needless to say, after the martinis, her head became even better fodder for the Q-Tip jokes.
As for the picture above, I hate to admit it, but I drew it sober...