I Just Wanted Some Twinkies

Last night, I went through a whole 35-minute ordeal just to get some freakin' Twinkies. I was at the grocery store because I needed pomade and I wanted some Twinkies and Sierra Mist (I know, and I'm still skinny. Sweet.) Anyway, I decided to pay for it with a check card because, well, I didn't have any cash on me. As some of you may know, the check card gets its name because, while you can use like a credit card, it takes the money from your checking account. You're welcome. So, anyway, I needed a receipt so I would know how much to take out when I balance my checkbook. The receipt printer was broken at the self-checkout register I used, so I walked up to the completely unnecessary stooge whose job it is to watch all the registers... you know, just in case someone tries to seal those mylar balloons or something. I told her I wanted a receipt. She told me ok. Then, she told me she couldn't because the woman behind me in line had already started processing her order. I was literally in the process of telling her that it wasn't that big a deal and I thought I remembered how much the total was anyway when she called over a manager. He'd help me, she said. I told him that I wanted a receipt, and he looked at me kinda funny, as if it were completely irregular for a retail customer to actually ask for a receipt. He went to the back room to print out a receipt from one of their high-tech sophisticated text-based-os computers. Twenty minutes later, I kid you not, he finally emerged, though I noticed he was conspicuously empty-handed. He said, "Was that purchase made on a card? I'll need to see it. The computer won't let me in without a card number." Fine," I said. I didn't even care anymore at this point, but I didn't want to leave without a receipt after all this, so I gave him my card. Again, I waited. Nearly fifteen more minutes passed before I saw him again, and he came out with this old school perforated printer paper that had my purchases on it. He said, "Sorry it took so long." I looked at the receipt and saw that my initial guess as to the total had been exactly right. I replied, "Oh, that's ok. It wasn't even that big a deal, anyway." The look on his face told me he wanted nothing more than to, as Colm Meaney might say, crush my larynx with his boot. I initially felt bad for putting the guy through all that, but the feeling quickly dissipated. As soon as I'd walked out the door, I couldn't stop laughing. All that for some lousy Twinkies.