Check This

Over the weekend, fellow ABU Blogger JR and I were on our way to a party where we weren't sure if food would be served. We didn't have time for dinner and, to put it mildly, I was starving the fuck to death, so we stopped at the grocery store to pick up a small snack.

I grabbed a Zone bar and JR picked up a fruit snack of some sort and we marched over to the checkout lane, where a rather hefty girl in her early 20s was working the register. As she rang up JR's fruitiness, I slowly perished. I briefly considered devouring the Zone bar as JR used his ATM card to pay for his item... but I didn't want to seem like a sow, so I resisted.

While JR waited for his transaction to be approved, I tried to get my mind off the pangs of hunger by asking him a question. I can't remember exactly what it was because I was delirious, but I'm sure it was something veryimportant. Meanwhile, the Chubby Checker was growing impatient, and asked him to hit the button to confirm his transaction. He apologized to her and pressed the appropriate keys as she joked, "You're just making your friend wait longer." I chimed in, only half-kidding: "Yeah. Hurry the hell up!" He jokingly snapped back: "YOU distracted me!" Then Chubby Checker gasped and shouted "OOOOooooOOHHH!" as if she was in the studio audience of the Jerry Springer show. Under normal circumstances I would have made some wise-ass comment, but my organs were in the process of shutting down due to malnutrition, so I was busy trying to stay alive.

It was a task, but I managed to hand her my Zone bar along with some cash. While she gathered my change, I tore into the peanut-buttery bar because I could feel my body going into its death throes. Luckily, I was able to take a bite just before I voided my bowels.

As I consumed its life-restoring choclateyness, Chubby Checker looks at me and says, "You might as well be eating a candy bar."

"Excuse me," I replied, careful not to let any precious Zone-crumbs spray out of my mouth.

"I said you might as well be eating a candy bar. It's just as good for you."

Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was in the Express Lane, not the Unwanted Bad Advice from Pamela Lane.

Really? REALLY? You're judging me on what I buy and consume... AND you're going to try and give me nutritional advice on top of it all? If my maw wasn't stuffed with food, I would have screamed at her until her candy-eating face fell off, leaving a trail of bloody nougat and caramel on the conveyor belt. JR, seeing that I was trying to swallow my food in order to spew forth a torrent of hate, quickly ushered me away from the scene as he muttered something to her about the Zone Bar's protein content.

How. Dare. She?

Doesn't this violate the unwritten rules of the cashier/customer relationship? Shouldn't I be able to purchase what I want without fear of judgment by an UNPleasantly Plump Checker? This is worse than disregarding a patient/doctor confidentiality agreement, as the effects are immediate and devastating . Am I entitled to some legal recourse?

Here's a tip: Next time you feel the need to comment on someone's purchases, don't. Shove a fucking Kit Kat down your throat instead or I'll do it for you as I'm beating you about the face and neck with a pair of Twix bars.