Musings of a ShopRite Cashier

As my time at ShopRite comes to a close this week, I have become more observant of the types of people coming through my lines. If my customers are any indication of the intelligence of this nation, I recommend the gulags. Here are some observations:

1. I had a legit Native American come through my line. At least I am assuming he was because there would be no excuse for his behavior if he wasn't. He paid me in all Saquajawea golden dollars, regular silver change, and indian head pennies. My real question here is not "why?" but rather, "If he was going to work his crazy time traveling native american voo doo magic, why would he come to a time period where the economy blows?" To be included on my blog, that's why.

2. Yay rednecks. The shining moment in an otherwise dull shift. Nothing can brighten my day more than seeing a Dale Earnhardt hat stroll down my line with a basket full of hot pockets. Their leader came to ShopRite yesterday in full force. Rocking her Harley Davidson jacket and her daughter in matching jacket, she proceeded to place an order of over 150 items, all cans and frozen dinner on my line and then let her daughter run free in the store. This child ran all the way out the door and was waving to her mom from outside, at age 5. The fact that she wasn't abducted is proof that not even kidnappers want to steal a redneck child. What are they going to ask for in the ransom note, her collection of nascar mugs? Finally, the woman threatened to leash the girl when she came back inside. I have no punch-line or joke for that, because I don't see the need to further develop a hilarious situation.

3. Quite possibly the most senile woman in history came though my line. I was on the 20 items or less line from hell and she asked if she had less than 20 items. I kid you not, she had 4. If I ever... ever get to a point in my life where I cannot distinguish 4 from 20, kindly place a ShopRite plastic bag over my head.

4. In my boredom at the snack bar, where I had one customer in 30 minutes, my mind wandered so far that I even asked myself, "What ever happened to Hootie and the Blowfish?" Seriously though, I can only imagine that Hootie is playing Flight of the Conchords style gigs in like, Denny's or something. As for the Blowfish (proof that an awesome band name can only carry you so far when you suck), I'm sure they are sitting in a basement somewhere jamming and waiting for Hootie to call. On the off chance their spending some of their free time checking blogs, here's some advice: Stop trying, it's just sad.

With only 8 hours of work left at ShopRite, I think it's time for some final thoughts on a job that consumed my life for 2 years (and even came back after I went to college). What just happened? I honestly remember nothing from my time at ShopRite. Besides a general feeling of boredom and hatred for coupons, I have taken little from this job. I have gained the rare skill of being able to refer to vegetables by number. 

Peppers - 4065

Bananas - 4011

Stephen Hawking - #1 (Don't even challenge that, he's the man)

So overall, ShopRite made for some hilarious stories at the expense of strangers. If I take nothing else from these two years, at least I can say I had a quite a few damn good laughs.