Friday, September 25, 2009


"Best Before Oct0209."

That simple phrase causes me enormous grief. If I could, I would remove it from every product unlucky enough to carry it. My life would become much simpler, and I'd be happier for it.

Unfortunately, removing the best before date would probably piss off customers. Customers love those dates. Changing one digit—increasing the best before date by just a single day—causes customers extreme joy.

Customer: "Excuse me? Do you have any salads with a later due date? If you can find me one, I'll bear your children."
Me: "I have one right here. You don't need to bear my—WHY ARE YOU GETTING NAKED?!?"
Customer: "BE MY BABY DADDY!!"

That's happened to me more times than I care to admit.

You see, customers mistakenly believe that products with a later best before date taste better. When customers buy salads with a nearby date, they break down in tears at the realization that they could have bought a newer, more scrumptious salad. Their tears fall on the crisp leaves of lettuce, leaving a salty taste and forever ruining their salad. And it all could've been avoided by buying a salad with a later date—or so customers think.

But I have a secret: That salad's not so fresh. It's been in the back cooler, out of sight, for a week. Store employees have thrown it around, kicked it, used it to mop up spills, dropped it, and wiped the floor with it. But before we threw it around, the warehouse employees did.

So go ahead, enjoy that salad. I don't mind.

Saturday, September 12, 2009





That's all I can hear. All I want to do is finish my task—that’s it. I came to the library because it's supposed to be quiet.



Alas, no. The undergrads are back; my quiet working environment is now ruined. All I can hear is the echo of some girl's snorting.


Here we go again; that's the third time in as many minutes. It's like being at a bacon farm—a noisy bacon farm.


Four times. I cannot figure out what is so hilarious that it induces snort-laughing. I can hear what those around me are saying; none of it is funny.

Undergradguy: "I have class in a half hour."

That's pronounced 'Oh Em Gee'; not "oh my god." Since when did text-speak actually become spoken words?

I'm guessing she doesn't have time to speak in full words. Full words mean less snorting.

Monday, September 7, 2009


There's nothing special about corn. It doesn't look exciting or taste like the nector of the gods, but put corn around people and they go crazy. They develop a corn frenzy, moving to a place where anything goes; normal social conventions no longer apply.

I don't know how it does it, but corn attracts the strangest members of humanity. Naturally, I get to meet these mental hospital denizens, which leads me to the following stories.

Story #1

I was cleaning up corn husks. When people buy corn, they aren't content with picking up some awesome-looking green beauty. No, they must strip the corn bare by ripping off the husk with such stylistic violence that it gives Michael Bay wet dreams. Corn husks sail through the air, eventually landing in shopping carts, on pallets of pop, in shopping bags, all over the flooreverywhere but the massive garbage bin we put out specifically for corn husks.

As I was picking up garbage, an elderly lady came up to me. "It's such a shame," she said. "People are animals. I was watching them earlier. They were throwing garbage all over the floor. It's disgusting."

"I know," I answered. "They do that. It's easier than throwing stuff in the trash bin. I've seen it ever since I started working in a grocery store."

"It never used to be that way. People never did that before the Asians and the Pakis came here," she continued before turning around and walking away.

Who doesn't love casual racism?

Story #2

Once again I was cleaning up corn husksit's the task that never ends. I was throwing all the garbage corn husks into a giant bin when an(other) elderly lady came up to me.

"You know," she started. "Corn is good for you. It's full of nutrients. I eat corn all the time and I'm healthy."

"Really?" I asked, knowing that I was about to get a long, boring, highly annoying speech.

"Yes! If you don't eat them, you won't be healthy. I eat corn all the time and I walk 5 miles a day. I'm healthy. But lately, I've started putting on weight. My grandson comes up to me now and says, 'Granny, you're getting fat.' I need to walk more. I'm getting fat."

"You're not fat," I told her, trying to be nice.

"Yes I am. You will be to if you don't stop eating like you are. You will become fat."

Interesting. This elderly woman posseses bizarre, fantastic, magical abilities that allow her to see my eating habits. I wonder what else she knows?

"You will get fat just like all the young girls nowadays. They're all fat. It's gross. They're all fat from eating too much. Not like my daughter. She is nice and tight because she goes to the gym everyday. She only eats organic food. She's very attractive. You would find her attractive."

This is even more interesting. This magic woman is attempting to sell me her daughter. I know the economy was bad, but this is crazy. But I guess if you need money: you gotta do what you gotta do.

On the other hand, if she's selling a group, maybe I can get a discount.

"She's not fat. She's tight. I was like that when I was young. Not now. I'm fat now. I ate too much garbage. I need to lose weight."

She kept repeating that exact line for what felt like an hour. It was probably closer to 5 minutes. "No you don't," I kept repeating.

"Remember: you will get fat! Watch what you eat," she finished. "You will get fat!"

She walked off, leaving me standing by myself. I was free.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to go eat. Time to get fat.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Cold Underwear

I was walking to the bar the other night when I heard some drunken hilariousness. Across the street from me was a group of drunken college kids. They were stumbling down the sidewalk when one of them spotted a small beer fridge on the side of the road.

Drunkguy1: "Dude!!! It's a beer fridge! We need to take this home!"
Drunkguy2: "Why's it on the side of the road? It must be broken or something."
Drunkguy1: "We'll take it home and find out. Help me lift it."
Drunkgirl: "Ohmygod! Is that a beer fridge? Let's take it home so I can put my underwear in it!"

Seriously? Did she just say that?

Oh well, I'm sure there's nothing more refreshing than a pair of cold underwear on a warm summer's eve.