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JWR 2.24 - No Jeff Jokes, I Promise


I went to Samís Club a couple weeks ago to stock up on the usual staples: Dr. Pepper, Utz cheeseballs, O.J., Nutty Bars and ham.  I try to avoid the ladies who stand at the end of the aisles with bite sized pieces of whatever type of food theyíre trying to peddle that week.  Iíll go out of my way to avoid them.  Iíll stick to the walls at the sides and rear of the warehouse.   Iíll hang a left at the video cassettes and walk past all the tools and automotive supplies and napkins so I can get to the frozen and refrigerated foods from behind--Iím a bit like Brian [redacted] that way.  Then Iíll go up the aisle just to get what I need, then Iíll turn around and head back to the wall where nobody is.  Because they know, youíre not gonna refuse a free sample of french toast sticks with maple syrup.  Then, as you eat it, they ask, ďWould you like to buy a box?Ē  Then they break it down per french toast stick and it sounds like such a great deal.  And itís hard to say no to such a great economical deal and to a woman who could very well be your own grandma, because they look hurt when you say no.  I had a sample of something, some kind of breaded cheese thing with jalapeŮo pepper and something else.  I stood there eating it and then I said not bad and walked away.  She said thank you, like she made it.  All she did was heat it up.  Thank you.  Okay.  But Samís is great because you can get five pounds of nutmeg for like, cheap.


So, I went to check out and I waited patiently.  Samís Club is cool because there are no coupons.  You have select rebates, but theyíre all mail-in, so you donít have to wait for the old ladies to fumble in their purses for the crinkled pieces of paper, nor do you need the wait for the rather dim-witted cashier to attempt and figure out the proper discount or how to get that price off the total, nor do you have to wait for the old ladies to check the total to see if it is correct.  Guys donít care.  We donít use coupons.  Itís simply not worth it.  Weíre willing to waste those cents if we can get out of the store without much hassle.  But you do still get the check writing women.  Checks are the dumbest idea ever.  Well, just for shopping in stores where people are behind you.  They write out the date and store information and signature beforehand, but they always seem to forget that you need to show a picture I.D.  They hand over the check and put away their checkbook and close the purse, then the cashier asks for her license.  It doesnít matter if youíre on check number 15438, they want an I.D.  But women are the worst.  You do not see men using checks.  And you do not ever see men writing a check for a quart of milk.  I use my credit card.  Swipe it and sign it.  Although, Iíve had problems at Best Buy.  See, Best Buy has those futuristic UPS-esque electronic boxes that you sign using a pen-shaped wand.  But itís so awkward that I keep screwing up my own signature and I am asked for another form of I.D.  I just want my Best of Carrot Top tape and I want to get out.


So, finally itís my turn to check out at Samís and part of me thinks that the check out girl is going to think of me as her savior because Iím all business at the check out.  I donít talk except one work answers to their standard questions.  ďHow are you?Ē  Fine.  ďDid you find everything okay?Ē  Yes.  Always yes, because the answer no would cause additional questions.  What didnít you find?  And so on.  I have my membership card and credit card ready.  Iím out the door.  (Like Ice-T says, ďThis is a nice watch.  Howís it look under this light, or this light?  How about daylight, motherfucker?Ē)  On the way out you can say whatever you want, because youíre no longer obligated to stick around.  You have your cards, your items, your receipt.  You can talk shit like the Rock if you wanted to, Roody Pooh Candy Ass.


Anyway, this girl was ringing up my items and I was looking at her name tag, for some strange reason, and there was this orange tag hanging under her name tag that said UNDER 18.  I know that it says that because she would be unable, in accordance with Federal and State laws, to ring up any purchases of alcohol, but I thought, what a  great thing.  What a great thing!  Now, if we could somehow implement this on a nation-wide basis, it would save a lot of trouble in the long run.  I saw the tag, there was no need to wonder, no need to even try.  Tags such as these would come in handy at places like the tuxedo store or the movie theater or church.


I went to a pet store with my friend Marie and while she was looking at the cats and dogs I was looking elsewhere, up at the ceiling because, well, I wasnít buying no cat or dog.  Anyway, there was this girl that worked there, this really cute, sweet black girl, but maybe she was UNDER 18.  Who knows?  Petland doesnít have the same policy as Samís Club, sadly.


Later that week I was driving around and I pulled up to a stop light and there were two girls in bikinis standing on the corner.  My windows were open because I donít have air conditioning in my car.  (I feel the need to point out the my car was my brotherís car first and he did not get the air conditioning--now I suffer.  Actually, I took my brother with me to buy my computer and under his oh-so wise advice, I bought the bottom of the line i-Mac, with the least memory.  Now my computer freezes up on my when I try to access my Hotmail from time to time.  I have my own oh-so wise advice: Donít listen to my brother.)   One of the girls asked me if I wanted to get my car washed.  I said no.  I told her that Iíd feel like a pervert.  Why?  Because youíre so young.  She said, ďIím twenty-four, hon.Ē  I laughed my ass off and told her that Iíd come back after I ran to a couple stores.


So I went to my stores and dropped off the stuff at my apartment, then I went for a drive and internally (and even externally) debated on going.  Actually, I went by another gas station to see if there was another car wash going on with a better offer: i.e.: hotter chicks.  There wasnít, so I made my way back to my side of town and went back to the gas station and bought myself a beverage and pulled up and asked how much for the wash.  Itís a charity thing.  Whatever I wanted to pay.  I pulled up and got out in some disillusionment.  There werenít any hot girls.  The two from the corner: gone.  There were like, four girls with guts and stretch marks, two guys and three little kids.  My curiosity got the better of me and I asked what the wash was for.  The Racine Raider cheerleaders.  The Raiders are our minor league football team.  And I guess the cheerleaders went home earlier, or I hoped they did.  (I did get compliments on my Creed shirt.)  I, naturally, was under the impression that it was a high school car wash.  Maybe she wasnít lying when she said she was twenty-four, after all.  Actually, with the big stomachs and stretch marks from the kids they had, it wasnít so unlike a high school car wash.


They finished washing my car, I gave them some dough and then I left feeling cheated somehow.  I went to the driving range and slammed a bucket of balls to my 125 yard crap average length and came to the conclusion that it was better it wasnít for high school, but I still felt cheated because it wasnít.


I drive by Lutheran High School on my way to and from work.  Itís simply a happy coincidence that the girlsí soccer team practices outside.  We love soccer girls.  If you had two planets, one with soccer girls and one with softball girls and the only other difference was that the soccer girl planet had no air and Satan lived there, weíd still pick the soccer girl planet.


ďNever trust a big butt and a smile.Ē  - BBD




Copyright © 2001 John Lemut