Saturday, August 27, 2011
Oh yeah, I want a house full of these things
Ugh, looks like the Village of the Damned is missing one of it's prized residents.
This hideous little girl has wandered away from her oblivious, free sample-hogging mommy in order to harass the Probably Already Wishes He Were Dead I Mean After All He Looks Like He's In This Late Twenties and He's a Stockboy store employee.* For some reason, this guy feels compelled to defend the veracity of Fiber One's claim to be High Fiber to this Adorable Little Moppet, even to the point of engaging in a "Yes It Is/No It's Not" battle of "wills."
Fortunately, our favorite weird Middle Eastern Guy with the Colonial British Accent comes to the rescue by essentially taking her side and explaining how Stockboy MUST be telling the truth because his pants are not on fire, proving that he's not "Pathological." At this point I really want to hurt the person who taught this kid the word "Pathological." That person deserves it, because she's probably the same individual who taught this kid that it was ok to call people who are just trying to make an honest living that they are liars. Never mind talking to strangers, which I thought was an obvious no-no in this day and age.
The mercifully short mess ends with the nasty little tike skipping off with a box of Fiber One to toss into Mommy's cart. We may assume that Mommy lets her kid pick out her own cereal, especially if she's sold, which she certainly seems to be (after all, she's so engrossed in stuffing her face with free samples, she didn't even notice that her kid went off to do research on the product's ingredients.) And again, we are left wondering why this particular ad would convince anyone to eat stuff which looks like, and probably is, just a pile of nuts, twigs and pencil shavings.
*When I was in my late-20s and recently married, I worked in the dairy department at a Wegman's Grocery Store in upstate New York. Because it was a job I could get, and the hours were flexible enough to allow me to substitute teach during the day. I can remember being bothered by annoying, know-it-all customers who thought that I had nothing but time on my hands, but none of them were little kids. Most of them were Seniors coming in to do their daily shopping for a cup of yogurt and stick of butter, who needed to know RIGHT THEN AND THERE if I was holding out on the Milk With The Slightly Better Expiration Date, or if there was REALLY no Rice Pudding left in the back, and I was just too lazy to check. I don't want a house full of THOSE people, either.
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I'm sure Brittany Brat probably washes down her bowl of processed wood pulp with a big glass of Pediasure to wash away the memory of having to chew.ReplyDelete
Most of them were Seniors coming in to do their daily shopping for a cup of yogurt and stick of butter, who needed to know RIGHT THEN AND THERE if I was holding out on the Milk With The Slightly Better Expiration Date, or if there was REALLY no Rice Pudding left in the back, and I was just too lazy to check. I don't want a house full of THOSE people, either.ReplyDelete
Reminds me of this one time years ago, when we still ate dairy, my husband and I were in a Wegman's, deciding which ice cream we wanted to buy. A couple of other people were ostensibly doing the same thing, just off to one side of us. Little old lady comes up, surveys the people gazing into the cases, and pipes in with, "What's everyone waiting for? Are they bringing out the ice cream?" Like there's some ceremonial "bringing out of ice cream" at an appointed time of day--and if you know just when to line up, you will get the s00per-sekrit awesomely good stuff that's not sitting in the cases the rest of the time. Husband: "No, we're just deciding what to buy." Implied: "Duh." ;)
Every once in a while, I had to fill the freezer with those Swanson entrees (like chipped beef on toast) and I'd have seniors hovering around like seagulls waiting to snatch it up before I could even put it in the case. Whenever I had to bring out ice cream, there would be someone to look over the cart and tell me which flavor I "had" to open first. Grrr.ReplyDelete
Whenever I had to bring out ice cream, there would be someone to look over the cart and tell me which flavor I "had" to open first. Grrr.ReplyDelete
I can so easily imagine that happening--and so know exactly the type you're referring to. Bleah. :)
Bleah, indeed; that's because they've all got it in their heads that they're old enough not to have to behave any longer. Mind you, if younger people try pulling that crap on them, they get all pissy and everything because, well, they're hypocrites.ReplyDelete