12 March 2006

Retard Day at Sam’s Club™

Well, no, not really. Special needs folks generally display far more common sense than our local Sam’s Club™ shoppers.

For you non-Yanks out there, Sam’s Club™ is a massive warehouse store that sells everything from bog paper to scallops; all in industrial size quantities.

Have you ever needed a 10 gallon container of mayonnaise? Sam’s Club™ has it.

Anti-VD drugs en-bulke for your regimental reunion? Sam’s Club™ carries ‘em.

Enough bog paper to last the century (or a week’s visit from your Mum-in-law). Sam’s Club™ will fix you right up.

A 100 kilo bag of cat food for your 97 cats? Well, you get the picture.

It is an amazing store that is entirely populated with people that act as if they have spent the last four years sniffing glue.

Well, except for me, of course. I had to go there since I am batching it this week and have no desire to mess up the kitchen for one person meals. I bought a variety of cased frozen sandwiches, including some “Jumbo Buffalo Chicken sandwiches” (a massive 30g ea.) that just scream salmonella. While they only bear a passing resemblance to the picture on the box, they prove to be very tasty in a dodgy carny-food sort of way.

I picked up a case motor oil, one of assorted fruit juices, a crate of 30mm cannon rounds (you’ve just gotta love this store, eh?) and headed for the cashier.

Easy peasy, right?

Well, no. Queue the glue-sniffing plague zombies. Tomorrow turns out to be the first day back to school for the college students and apparently the 48th Olympiad for competitive inbreeding is also in town.

A Sam’s Club™ employee announces Free Schnitzel samples, and instantly the main aisle is blocked with abandoned carts as the masses, and I do mean masses, scramble for the free vittles.

“For crying out loud, people. Show some consideration.” I say. “Do you people drive like this?”

Bloodshot eyed hephelumps consider the question, and nod. I have seen the parking lot and they are telling the truth.

I wrestle the cart to the left, hoping to escape through the meat department.

Three college “dudes” are blocking the aisle. They are, and I am not making this up, thumping the meat to check the freshness.

“Dude, check out this steak!” He is holding a leg of lamb and thumping it.

“Dude,” queried another, “Isn’t it melons that are supposed to be thumped?”

“Naw, dude,” answers the third, “That’ll get you a sexual harassment suit.”

I run them down with the cart; an act that you all surely must agree is in humanity’s best interest.

Fifteen minutes later I have braved the mass of slack jawed ijits and am at the cashier, some 50 scant crow flying meters from my starting point.

“Did you find every thing okay?” She asks.

I grunt and she hands me a complementary tube of model glue. I promise myself that next week I’ll not forget to sniff it before my trip to Sam’s Club™.

And that's the way I likes it.