I sometimes think that if sarcasm and snark were marketable skills, I would be rich right now, instead of broke and living with my parents.
The other day I was at the store, buying widgets to resell online. I had found some at a pretty good price (in other words, I could resell them profitably with a comfortable margin in case another seller started a Race to the Bottom). So I bought a lot of them. I filled a whole cart. Now, I much prefer the self-checkout, but the store’s backwards register system isn’t set up to allow the usage of a tax exempt card, so I had to go stand in line for a human cashier.
So the cashier was about fifteen years old. He still had peach fuzz on his face, and the manager had to come ring up the guy in front of me because he was buying a bottle of that cheap shit big box stores pass off as wine. That was okay though, because my hundred-something-item purchase was going to take a hell of a lot longer than the guy buying grape-flavored mouthwash, so whatever.
So finally it’s my turn and I have about half my items unloaded onto the conveyor belt. I manage to get the cashier to scan my tax exempt card first, which is a major accomplishment because in that store, I always give them the card first, and half the time the cashier ignores it, rings up my items, then has to start over because they didn’t do the tax exempt thing first. So I think we’re doing pretty good as he starts ringing up my items. I have probably close to a hundred individual items, most of them small enough you could fit 2-4 to a bag.
So then he says to me, “Do you want these items in bags?”
No, I want to put them in my car one at a time, and when I get home I want to remove them from my car the same way. I mean, I’m as concerned about the environment as the next person (unless the next person works for the White House), and when I’m buying one item I usually turn down the bag, but there’s no way I’m going to take an entire cartload of crap out to my car sans bags. (Also, I reuse every single plastic bag I take as packing material, so it’s not like I’m just going to throw them out.)
He didn’t appear to get it, so I explained that because I don’t eat meat I already have a carbon footprint much smaller than a person who never uses plastic bags (also smaller than someone who doesn’t shower for a whole year).
W. T. Fallon is the author of Fail to the Chief, a political satire in which the presidential election is carried out via reality show, which is almost as bizarre and far-fetched as our current reality.