In honour of the glass being in a perpetual state of half-emptiness, it is my pleasure to bring you the latest installment of 999 Things that Bother Me.
#998: Little old ladies that insist on paying in exact change.
If it wasn’t bad enough that you’re getting gouged $3.89 at Metro for a bag of Baked Lays, insult to injury is both expected and masochistically welcome.
Despite there being eight cash registers, there are only three open, and massive lines at the holy trinity of extortion.
10 minutes have passed, and your $8 tub of Breyer’s vanilla ice cream is beginning to resemble cream of mushroom soup.
You anxiously grab the grocery separator, so as not to incur the expense of the Depends belonging to the lovely lady in front of you.
And then it happens. Out pops the change purse.
At first glance, it appears as if the senior citizen in front of you is attempting to relay her age to those around her, with each penny representing one year of faithful service on planet Earth.
The copper striking the slippery surface sends sounds of suffering and agony resonating across your tympanic membrane. And they keep coming.
A collective groan raucously erupts from your debit and cash-paying compatriots.
Perhaps she raided a copper mine, you desperately ponder, hoping to rationalize this fierce violation of your inherent, inalienable human grocery-shopping rights.
Shit, here come the coupons.
$0.10 off prime rib? Are you for real, lady?
As patience and hair grow thin, you suppress the urge to throw your Visa at the cashier and offer to buy groceries for all within ear-shot.
Buy one tampon, get the second free? Shouldn’t menopause have kicked in during the Nixon administration?
You vow never again to help another old lady cross the street, regardless of traffic and weather conditions.
And those are some things that bother me.
