Ok, so! I have a (slightly[probably only to me]) amusing story to tell you about my adventures today. But it’s one of those stories that you need to hear about three different back stories on, so bear with me.
Anyway. I’m having a small group of friends over for a BBQ tomorrow night, just throwing some burgers and chicken legs on the grill and some beers in the cooler. It’ll be fun times. You should totally come. And today I decided I’d run to the grocery store during my lunch hour and get all the groceries I need for this BBQ and save myself the time after work. I decided to go to a store different from my usual because they have a better produce selection, and their prices are very reasonable.
I’m all about saving money, you see.
So! Okay, here’s the back story: I work with a lady who, let’s just say, has some quirks. Some peccadilloes. Some idiosyncrasies, if you will. Alright, I’ll say it.
She’s a tad weird.
But totally not in a bad way. She just (I think) has some (possibly undiagnosed) OCD going on, and some definite anxiety/nervous tendencies. Most days it goes unnoticed, especially because I don’t work directly with her, but some days? Dudes. Some days I just want to say, “GIVE IT A REST. IT’S FINE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO CHECK THAT TRIVIAL THING FIVE TIMES.” But I know that would send her into even more of a tizzy, so I just keep my mouth shut and am thankful that she does check that trivial thing five times because what if she hadn’t and something got mixed up. And I get why she is anal about everything because I totally understand the need for order and organization. I am a Virgo, you know.
Anyway. Wilson mentioned to me one day that this person (let’s call her Twitchy, ’cause it’s fun) resembles a pop culture icon from the early 90’s.
Yes. She looks like Garth Algar, of Wayne’s World fame. More specifically, she looks like the girl in the sequel to the Wayne’s World movie (remember that steaming pile of poo?) that looked like Garth.
Side note, did you know that’s Olivia freaking D’abo? The ‘hippie older sister’ from The Wonder Years. I never knew. Huh.
Anyway, yes, Twitchy looks exactly like that. And we’ve had a little fun with it ever since. Which, yes, is kind of mean, but Wilson and I pick on everyone, including each other. Mercilessly. Besides, it’s kind of awesome that Twitchy resembles someone remembered so fondly in my teenage memories.
OKAY! Back to today, where I’m at Valley Farmer’s Market, otherwise known as The Land of Awesome Produce and Phenomenal Butcher Counter, and I’m running around like a fool because it’s not my usual grocery spot so I don’t know where everything is, and did I mention it’s
Old People Senior Citizen Day, so isn’t that lovely (don’t get me wrong, I treasure the older generation and think we have much to learn from them but DUDE I AM TRYING TO BUY EGGS GTFO PLEASE), getting stuck behind Ma and Pa Kettle in the dog food aisle when I have TWENTY MINUTES ZOMG to get back to work.
So I grab the last of my items and jump into line to check out. I was lucky enough to get on line right behind someone that was almost done checking out, so I loaded my goods on the belt and waited patiently while their groceries were rung up and bagged. They paid and left, and I looked expectantly at the cashier waiting for her to begin my order. Except that it was apparently shift change and that cashier was switching with a new cashier. Which meant they had to switch out money, cash drawer, etc.
Now this was fine, I’ve worked a cash register or two in my day, and I know how that sort of thing works. I waited patiently as the new cashier put her drawer in, and got her money in order. And put the receipt envelope in the drawer. And put her pens side by side next to the register. And put her lip balm next to the pens. And her anti bacterial hand gel and OH GOOD LORD I GOT THE OCD CASHIER.
Now, let me tell you, I am not one of those people who has to have everything separate in their grocery bags. I don’t care if there’s bars of soap in with my milk. I don’t mind if you put more than two bottles of soda in one bag. Just don’t squash my heirloom tomatoes or my bread (should I have any) and we’re okay. I usually prefer to bag my own items just to facilitate the process, but OCD Cashier was not. Having it.
Ring three items. Put them in a bag. Right two more. Put them in the bag. Get a new bag. Fix new bag on the bag hanger. Open new bag. Fix bag again. Open bag wider.
Cut to Jenn, slowly dying inside.
During the whole grocery-ringing fiasco, I was texting Wilson, because damn it someone needed to share in my misery.
JC: OMG Dude I’m at Valley Farms and I swear I have Twitchy’s long-lost sister as a cashier. FFS.
JC: ha ha, no. just anal and OCD and OMFG SO SLOW.
Wilson: Ah, gotcha. Yikes.
JC: But her OCD did just spy a coupon on my garbage bags so good on you, annoyingly anal cashier.
JC: AND HOLY SHIT SHE DOES LOOK LIKE GARTH BUT WITH BROWN HAIR. TOTALLY TWITCHY’S SISTER.
At some point Wilson stopped replying, which often happens when I go off on tangents at the grocery store, so I’m used to it. As is he.