An Open Letter To The Elderly Shoppers Of St. Cloud Minnesota
Dear Old People,
JUST FUCKING DIE ALREADY! If you can't do us the favor of dying please have the courtesy to live out the rest of your miserly, self-important, farina speckled lives indoors and away from the public your dusty presence chokes on a daily basis. If I go to Menard's to buy a new grill and some charcoal (inspired by Doordolt... Inspired By! Not Copied From!) I already have to schlep across a hardware wasteland whose layout was originally drawn in three useable dimensions and meant for zero gravity and whose translation to two demensional floorspace places the grilling utensils and picnic supplies 200 feet, as the crow flies, from the grills. I don't want to have to hack my way through this jungle of soft pine and cheap varnish while also pausing every 5 minutes because you and your rotund prairie wife parked your cart in the middle of the main aisle and are staring listlessly at an end cap display with no concern for the fact that there are lines of shoppers gathering trying to get around you. This inconsiderate loitering is bad enough but when juxtaposed by the fact that you and your Iowa Butter Hog decided that I was taking too long lifting a giant ass charcoal grill box off the shelf and placing it in my cart and decided, after 5 seconds of waiting, to use your cart as a ram to shove mine out of the way, force my cart over my foot as I was lifting the grill to place it inside, and now ,having displaced my cart by five feet, park your cart where mine was and start looking at grills! As if my temporary and necessary activity was somehow secondary to your need to mill around like cattle in the grill aisle! After having chucked my grill over the back end of my now discheveled cart and left I thought about going back to tell you you're a prick and kick your Wheat Hound in the stretchy capri sweatpants that hold back the tide of pasty vein covered camel toe. I decided to move on. After all, What Would Jesus Do? Well he wouldn't vote Republican, that's for sure. If I had gone back, however, I could have avoided my next two encounters with members of your IH hat wearin' peer group. I needed a fan. I saw a man with a Menard's shirt. He was an elderly gentleman with silver hair and stubby fingers. Grumpy plumber type. I asked where fans were and he began to tell me. Unfortunately he only got as far as pointing before another grumpy plumber type came up to ask a question about a brass hinge. Mr. Helpful employee kept pointing and shook his finger to simultaneously let me know that I should go that direction AND that I was dismissed. As he pointed he turned his body towards this new silver haired customer and lavished on him his stumpy fingered ministrations. That damned customer either whispered "Tubalcaine" in his ear or I was just discriminated against on the basis of age. Fuck it, I found the fans with the pointing. Good enough. I want to check out. Eureka! A line with only one customer in it! And they are almost finished! I can finally get out of here! My cart is unloaded. I've browsed the impulse items. My line's not moving yet. I turn to see what all the kufuffle is about only to realize that I have been foiled again. Once more a victim of an elderly shopper. The lady in front of me, who's only buying three items, has decided to argue with the cashier that the clearly marked $5.99 cent metal garden flower is not worth $5.99. She believes that the one that spins in the wind is worth $5.99 but the one that doesn't spin (although clearly made of superior materials) is only worth $3.99. She actually haggled for 25 minutes. 25 MINUTES!!!! I WAS IN LINE FOR 25 MINUTES before anyone started ringing up my stuff. I had already put my stuff on the belt and the cashier had pulled my cart up. I was stuck there. She insisted it had been priced wrong. I've run out of anger now. This blog is fading fast. I'm watching The Three Amigos and they are asking a giant singing bush if it's "the singing bush" so I don't have any steam left. Let me just finish up by saying this: May the extra years afforded you by modern medical technology pass slowly, painfully, and with much sadness.
If you aren't an incosiderate old person who thinks that the world owes you it's patience but you owe none to the world this blog isn't about you. But fuck you anyway.
-KMB
JUST FUCKING DIE ALREADY! If you can't do us the favor of dying please have the courtesy to live out the rest of your miserly, self-important, farina speckled lives indoors and away from the public your dusty presence chokes on a daily basis. If I go to Menard's to buy a new grill and some charcoal (inspired by Doordolt... Inspired By! Not Copied From!) I already have to schlep across a hardware wasteland whose layout was originally drawn in three useable dimensions and meant for zero gravity and whose translation to two demensional floorspace places the grilling utensils and picnic supplies 200 feet, as the crow flies, from the grills. I don't want to have to hack my way through this jungle of soft pine and cheap varnish while also pausing every 5 minutes because you and your rotund prairie wife parked your cart in the middle of the main aisle and are staring listlessly at an end cap display with no concern for the fact that there are lines of shoppers gathering trying to get around you. This inconsiderate loitering is bad enough but when juxtaposed by the fact that you and your Iowa Butter Hog decided that I was taking too long lifting a giant ass charcoal grill box off the shelf and placing it in my cart and decided, after 5 seconds of waiting, to use your cart as a ram to shove mine out of the way, force my cart over my foot as I was lifting the grill to place it inside, and now ,having displaced my cart by five feet, park your cart where mine was and start looking at grills! As if my temporary and necessary activity was somehow secondary to your need to mill around like cattle in the grill aisle! After having chucked my grill over the back end of my now discheveled cart and left I thought about going back to tell you you're a prick and kick your Wheat Hound in the stretchy capri sweatpants that hold back the tide of pasty vein covered camel toe. I decided to move on. After all, What Would Jesus Do? Well he wouldn't vote Republican, that's for sure. If I had gone back, however, I could have avoided my next two encounters with members of your IH hat wearin' peer group. I needed a fan. I saw a man with a Menard's shirt. He was an elderly gentleman with silver hair and stubby fingers. Grumpy plumber type. I asked where fans were and he began to tell me. Unfortunately he only got as far as pointing before another grumpy plumber type came up to ask a question about a brass hinge. Mr. Helpful employee kept pointing and shook his finger to simultaneously let me know that I should go that direction AND that I was dismissed. As he pointed he turned his body towards this new silver haired customer and lavished on him his stumpy fingered ministrations. That damned customer either whispered "Tubalcaine" in his ear or I was just discriminated against on the basis of age. Fuck it, I found the fans with the pointing. Good enough. I want to check out. Eureka! A line with only one customer in it! And they are almost finished! I can finally get out of here! My cart is unloaded. I've browsed the impulse items. My line's not moving yet. I turn to see what all the kufuffle is about only to realize that I have been foiled again. Once more a victim of an elderly shopper. The lady in front of me, who's only buying three items, has decided to argue with the cashier that the clearly marked $5.99 cent metal garden flower is not worth $5.99. She believes that the one that spins in the wind is worth $5.99 but the one that doesn't spin (although clearly made of superior materials) is only worth $3.99. She actually haggled for 25 minutes. 25 MINUTES!!!! I WAS IN LINE FOR 25 MINUTES before anyone started ringing up my stuff. I had already put my stuff on the belt and the cashier had pulled my cart up. I was stuck there. She insisted it had been priced wrong. I've run out of anger now. This blog is fading fast. I'm watching The Three Amigos and they are asking a giant singing bush if it's "the singing bush" so I don't have any steam left. Let me just finish up by saying this: May the extra years afforded you by modern medical technology pass slowly, painfully, and with much sadness.
If you aren't an incosiderate old person who thinks that the world owes you it's patience but you owe none to the world this blog isn't about you. But fuck you anyway.
-KMB
posted by Unknown at 8:28 PM
7 Comments:
you should print this out and post it at various elderly hangouts: whitney senior center, in front of the mall doors at target, green lights, that type of thing.
gawd, my saturday night is ROcKING!
damn had i known you were at menards i would have gotten ma into a electric cart to clear a lane for ya, a quick jaunt over to get a plow installed on the front and you could have parted the geriatric sea. and they are cushy and squishy too, so you could have made the biggest ball of old people in the world. you would be famous!
like real life katamari... fun
I believe they prefer to be called "blue hairs."
Most Blue hairs are like anti-vampires...and are only out in the public from 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM M-F (when most normal people are busy working).
Cut em a break, after all, they are the last generation to actually have Social Security...They're OLD GIVE EM GIVE EM GIVE EM!
This is just another reason you should do all your shopping online...avoid the blues and the greys. After all, old people can't set their VCR Clocks much less use that confuser to buy stuff.
stu!!!!! how can I stalk you if you're never around?
I lurk from the shadows, dirty.
You can't stalk THE stalker.
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