THE STORE CARD?  

Nowadays it seems — every time I go shopping at the store, drug store, grocery store, hardware store, etc., nine times out of ten when I get up to the cashier’s counter I'm asked, “Do you have your ____ card, sir?"

“No. I don’t have one.”

“Would you like to get one, sir?”

“No thanks.”

“It’ll only take a minute, sir”.

“NO.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“YES I’M SURE, and NO, I DON’T WANT ONE!”

"What's the matter, sir? Don't you want to save money!"

I didn't answer. This was one of those stupid loaded questions like, "Are you still beating your wife?"  and I wanted to choose my words carefully because I thought I had seen my Preacher over on Aisle 4 and I didn't want to be the topic of next Sunday's sermon.

It had gotten quiet in the store except for the incessant chewing gum popping by the clerk.  She turned toward me, folding her arms across her chest as if to say, "Well jackass!  I'm waiting."

"Ma'am", I began. "Ma'am . . .  your obstinate insistence that I should obtain one of those flipping store cards in order to save money, in your opinion, Ma'am, and your uncaring snot-nosed bag full of discourteous rudeness and self-serving air of arrogance, has put me in a foul mood that I wasn't previously in before entering this store.

Not only have you been rude to me, Ma'am, but you've also been rude to all those people in line behind me, by keeping them waiting.   Who knows, Ma'am?  One of those people in line might be a closet serial killer, and you'd have been the trigger that set him or her off.  Why can't you keep a card behind the counter for people like me who don't want to carry around twenty or thirty different cards, one for each store?  Then all you'd have to do, ma'am, would be to reach down, grab it, and scan it. 

Ma'am?

What, Ma'am?

Do I want what, Ma'am?

No, Ma'am.

I don’t want my %#@&% receipt."