ShopRite Saturday Slam Book

Most Beautiful: The shiny, shiny pennies in Register One. I hate Register One, but these pennies made the time there worth it. Seriously, they were like, glowing. They reminded me of the coins in treasure chests that you see in pirate movies, but for the life of me don't know what the word for that is.


Most Likely To Succeed: Brian, for suggesting "bullions." Well, not so much "suggesting" as "insisting," and while I know he's not wrong, per se, it is still not the exact word I'm looking for, but I admire his quick thinking.


Most Ugly: The dull, old pennies in Register One later on. I was not PLEASED to be on Register One again, until I remembered The Pennies. Imagine my excitement, then, when the time came to open a new roll of pennies. Alas, what came spilling out of the new roll was not, as I had envisioned, beautiful shiny still-unknown-pirate-word goodness, but rather, ugly, dark, OLD pennies. Bollocks!


Most Pathetic: Me, for letting pennies control my happiness.


Most Impressive Projection During An Argument: Tie: Rich and Mertz


Most Likely To Star As A Dumb Pet On "America's Funniest Home Videos" Or Whatever The Show Is Called Now To Make It Sound More Edgy: The Rhodes scholars that do not seem to understand the correlation between the moving belt and their moving pocketbooks. Yes, the belt is moving, that's just how we kick it in supermarkets if you want your groceries scanned, and I get too perverse a thrill watching you pick it up and move it over and pick it up and move it over to stop the belt and either way, if you want the belt stopped, ask me, don't act all put out and disgruntled.


Most Random Doppelganger: The customer who looked so much like "I Bring You Chips" that I almost said something to him until I realized how psychotic that would look.


Most In Need Of Our Tone Soap Sale: Let me start by saying that I know I smoke sometimes, and that to a non-smoker, have at times been off-putting in that I smelled like smoke to varying degrees. Let me also say that I have always rather enjoyed the smell of smoke, even when I was an avid non-smoker. I even find the smell sexy. HOWEVER. When I think that my current customer reeks of smoke, only to find out that it's actually the customer two shopping carts behind him, that's just a bit MUCH.


Most Conspicuously Absent: Greg. What the HELL, Greg?


Most In Need To Shut Up: The guy who disobeyed my cardinal rule, which is "Thou Shalt Not Tell Me To Smile," and then flirted with me in front of his daughter.


Most Egregious Example Of Why Tanning Salon Visits Should Be Strictly Moderated: Every highschool girl that's ever come into the store, ever.


Most In Touch With His Inner Child: Bryan, for telling me a story about the "Civilization" videogame, then later buying "Batman" and something else. "Phantasm?"


Most Awkwardedly Sad: The guy who was a blessed reprieve from the rest of the particularly aggressive blockheads, smiling, kind, polite -- all was grand. He was buying cat food, and we were discussing cats, and he was saying that dogs were the best though, because when his dog greets him after he comes home, there's just nothing like it. Sure. I'm a cat person, but I can get down with that, dogs are cool.

But then.

Then.

"Thank God for my dog, because nobody else cares if I'm home or not."

!

All that was missing was a needle scratch sound effect. The switch from affable gentleman to bitter, lonely, slightly menacing man was so abrupt, yet so complete.

But not as complete as it would seem.

"I also really like llamas."

"..."

"How about you, are you a llama lover?"

What does one say when asked by a lonely man if one is a llama lover?

"Inever really thought about it," I stuttered, with a big smile as I sent him on his way, home to his cats and dog. Sorry guy, I feel bad for you, and I relate to the emptiness, what with the penny excitement from before, but that was unnerving. And also depressing.


Most Horrible: The lady who got to my register, and started making a phone call THEN, like she wasn't even passively obnoxious enough to already be on the phone, she had to be actively obnoxious and then called in a TAKEOUT order to a Chinese restaurant, and I think it's a pretty safe bet that the Chinese restaurant people despise her even more than me because she greeted them with "This is Phyllis," and goes on to not so much "order" as "describe" what she wanted, meaning she was actually describing the possible ingredients in her freaking soup while standing there on line and mind you, she is going back and forth and back and forth, complete with "knowing glance" to me all offensively like, "oh you know these foreigners, how they can't understand" and understand WHAT? YOUR VAGUE DESCRIPTION OF A SOUP YOU HAD ONE TIME, "PHYLLIS???" I was horrified by her, horrified further still by her knowing glance at me, like leave me out of your Ugly American Act please, because I really don't think it's so much of a language barrier as it is an entitlement barrier, because I sure as hell don't know what kind of soup you're trying to order either, and besides, if you have the unmitigated gall to be calling a restaurant during the busiest time of the week and act like they should drop everything for you, since you ARE Phyllis, then maybe you could get one of those newfangled MENUS?

Meanwhile, her husband comes up, and he was totally the epitome of the Plainview Man, all beleaguered and whipped into shape, and seriously I have never seen worse couples than I have working in this town, all the guys just look so defeated and you know there must be some kind of Tom Cruise creepy brainwashing thing going on, like it might START with the jumping on couches, but in the end, there is just something Stepford-y going on, but in reverse, because you know it's not the sex, and definitely not the scintillating conversation because how long can you really talk about acrylic tips and how Marilyn's daughter Jen just had a baby and you went to Nordstrom and got baby Madison the most adorable Guess? jeans with a matching jacket and hat and sneakers and also the cutest pink t-shirt and socks...

But so anyway this guy comes up to the line and is putting more stuff on the belt when this "woman" does this most hideous snap/point thing, and I really can't do justice to how simultaneously violent and patronizing this gesture was, but the gist of it was, "Bag, bitch!" I was so embarrassed for him, but then you know, his choice, I suppose.

And of course, of course she made him do double paper! And not like she was helping. She was too busy...

...telling the Chinese restaurant employee...

...to PLEASE HURRY, IT'S FOR PHYLLIS.


Most Helpful Gum: The Orbit Citramint in my pocketbook that freshened my breath after I threw up in my mouth.

©2006

Long Island

"To My Fellow Long Islanders"


The Deluxe Edition, Now With Commentary!

You live in the shadow of the greatest city in the world, but you almost never go there.

Yeah, well, I used to go there every single day for work, and that really sucked a lot, so I needed some time to detox. Now I have no money, but when I go, I completely appreciate it.


When you're away from Long Island, you love it and when you're there, you don't.

No. No. I am not one of those annoying people who bitch nonstop about Long Island. It's like, seriously, if you hate it so much, just leave.


You think if you're not from Long Island or NYC, you're not really from New York.

That's because you're not. My rule is that in order to be real New York, you need to have fantastic pizza, bagels, coffee, and Chinese food, and bars that dont close at one, Oneonta.


You know the exact point at which Queens turns into Nassau simply on intuition.

Ha ha, yes, I am renowned for my intuition when it comes to directions. But actually, I kind of can.


You don't go to Manhattan, you go to "The City."

Greatest city in the world, it is!


You never realize you have an accent till you leave.

Actually, I realize it while I'm here, because I have a weird mix of accents that I attribute to a) my mother thinking she is Southern because her father is from Kentucky, b) years of plays and "Acting with an Accent" tapes, c) the inordinate amount of hours I spend in Irish bars, and d) Fun With Accents Time with Greg at ShopRite.


At some point in your life you've gone clamming.

No, but I never felt the need due to my bizarre obsession with this book I read when I was younger, where for some reason these three sisters live alone in like, Maine or something, and run out of food and have to eat snails that they find under rocks.


Either your parents or your grandparents lived in the city.

True story.


You'd pay $8.50 for a movie.

Only $8.50? Nice!


You don't live in Long Island. You live ON Long Island.

I don't understand this one. Who would say "in?"


You know where the Commack Motor Inn is.

I also know that they provide hookers and porno at the front desk. (My husband in Taming of the Shrew worked there.)


Your distant future might involve the state of Florida.

Unless it involves Islands of Adventure, I hope not. Spiderman ride, YAY!


You can correctly pronounce places like Hauppauge, Commack, Islip, Islandia, Massapequa.

I don't have anything to add to this.


You know the location of 6 malls and a dozen McDonald's and 36 7-11s.

Six malls? I dont think so. God, I hope not. 36 7-11s, I hope so. 7-11s are like, my great joy.


You never, ever want to "change at Jamaica..."

Ohhhh, no. No, I do not.


You've tried to find the Amityville Horror house.

"Do or do not, there is no try." And now I've quoted "Star Wars" twice before my coffee, so I have no idea whats going on.


No, you don't want mustard on that burger!!

You know, I've done my share of traveling and never once had unsolicited mustard added to my burger.


You've had a seagull crap on your car.

Ive also had an egg thrown at my car. Baldwin bastards.


You have or someone you know has fallen asleep on the LIRR and ended up in one of these three places: Babylon, Port Washington or Hicksville.

Hahaha, sure have! But let me just take this opportunity to mention how much the Hicksville line sucks. BABYLON 4EVA!


You went to an elementary school that promoted dodgeball as the number 1 game among children 7-13.

What? No, I...what?


You know White Castle is terrible for you and the food sucks but you periodically "Get the Crave."

There are very few cravings for crap that I escaped, but White Castle is thankGodfully one of them, the lack thereof sealed forever after letting Natalie talk me into buying the frozen ones one post-Stingers evening/morning.


You want the Yankees to stay in the Bronx, but would probably go to more games if they moved to Manhattan.

I hate the Yankees. That's right, SUCK ON THAT AHLELELLELELELLELELLELELELELE my girlfriend Lizzy Kaplan.


You've missed that "Drunk Train," the 2:42 out of Penn and had the dreaded wait until 5:30.

The 5:30 train is the drunk train, and its not 5:30, its 5:07!


You or someone you know has owned an animal that came from North Shore Animal League.

Yes, Pecan and Pumpkin awww and can I just say right now what psychos they have working there? Like, I LOVE animals, and hate the thought of anyone ever hurting or mistreating them, but North Shore makes it next to impossible to adopt, which I think is a real freaking shame, since so many need homes.


Quick! Who's the Suffolk County Executive? Don't know, do you?!

I'll do you one better and tell you that I have no idea what a County Executive is. I know, I'm awesome.


You've never taken an MTA bus.

What? Yes, I have. Shut up!


The Long Island Expressway isn't really as bad as everybody thinks.

No, it's worse. HATE.


You don't associate Fire Island with gay men.

I really dont associate it with much at all.


You know which parts of "The Godfather" were filmed on Long Island.

I've never seen "The Godfather." NO, I AM NOT KIDDING!


You've paid a $10 cover charge to get into a bar, but got nothing for it.

I avoid cover charge bars like the plague. I don't feel the need to pay to have the element that attracts flipping their bleached blonde hair into my drink or spilling their appletinis on my shoes, thanks.


You miss wiffleball and running through sprinklers.

I do not miss wiffleball, just the thought of organized sports fills me with panic and dread. Yes, even wiffleball. I do miss running through sprinklers, though.


You think Islip MacArthur airport is cute and you enjoyed watching it grow up.

Hee!


Billy Joel said it best, "Either you date a rich girl from the North Shore, or a cool girl from the South Shore".

HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YEAH!!!!!!!!!! NORTH SHORE SUCKS!


You don't really see the big deal about the Hamptons, unless you got smashed.

I don't really think I'd like Hamptons people.


When people ask, "Where are you from?" you answer Long Guy Land and automatically assume everyone in the world knows that answer means New York.

No, I answer New York in hopes of avoiding funny funny people saying Oh, "LONG GUY LAND?" and annoying the crap out of me.


You've always liked Billy Joel and you own several of his "records."

No, I don't like Billy Joel, despite his awesome quote from above. I KNOW! I dont know why, I just don't. I don't hate him; he just does nothing for me.


The Belt Parkway sucks!

Not sure I've ever taken it. But I'm sure it does.


Your parents took you to Nathan's or Carvel (on the way home from the beach).

Never to Nathan's, and Carvel was after the pool. After the beach we went to Ice Cream World in Merrick.


Regular gas - $3.39 and you still pay it!!!

No.


You hate paying tolls.

This is a really stupid one.


You don't have to go far to see your family.


"I think this line's mostly filler." ~ Willow


You remember Grumman.

Mmm hmm.


You've gotten drunk on the bleachers of some high school.

No I haven't, but I did light matches on them in elementary school when I was in my pyro phase and some girl wasn't allowed to hang out with me anymore. I was so badass!


You know the color of the water at Jones Beach is not BLUE!


Well, of course not. Go to California if you can't handle it!


You were upset when all the Roy Rogers turned into Wendy's.

YES. See now, this right here is insightful commentary. Who the hell cares, "Your family lives close by," but the Roy Rogers debacle was severe. I mean, the Oreo shake was an important part of my Nassau Community College career, like I could haul my depressed ass to Roy's and get a shake and sit in my car all by myself and read Cosmo, which made me even more depressed because of course the year I leave my school of 10 people to go to depressing huge Nassau is the year that bony becomes the new slim, and so I'd sit there escaping the world but then it just disappeared, although that one became McDonald's, but also, I HATE Wendy's, I know a lot of people love it, but not only do I not like the Yankees or Billy Joel but I also dont like Wendy's, because first of all, MAYONNAISE??? EW! And just, I dont know, I just don't like it. And now all the Roy Rogers(es?) that do exist suck, and it's like Pet Sematary, when you see them, you're all happy, but forgetting that they came back wrong and are now almost as offensive as Arby's.


You can spout off all the LIRR stops between Penn Station and Ronkonkoma.

Oh, please. "Ronkonkoma."



Paying $35 for a haircut doesn't sound so crazy.

I haven't paid that little for a professional haircut since the Lemon Tree craze of '87.



You think the people from Brooklyn are "da wunz dat tawk wit a accent."


I think that the idiots at Mulcahy's are the ones dat tawk like dat about dare cahs and dare boyz and dare coke.


Sledding in the sumps

* Deep breath * I've never been sledding. It is one of my great life woes.


You knew of Massapequa before the Amy Fisher-Joey Buttafuoco nightmare.

That was not a nightmare, it made for some of the best television ever. THREE. THREE movies were made about it, one with Drew Barrymore, one with Alyssa Milano, but the best actress was that Noelle chick, but they were all of course awesome.


You thought going to Queens was a hike.

When? When did I think this? Did we all of a sudden stumble into a "You know youre from the '80s/'90s" essay?


The first time you heard the term "Long Island Iced Tea," you were somewhere else and you laughed.

Somewhere...else...what?


When you live somewhere else and are astounded to see that people actually stop at yellow lights.

Okay, I think the end of this was tacked on or something, because the tense is different and everything sucks now.


When you just sort of presume that wherever you live, you'll be able to find good delis, good pizza, and good bagels.

See, case in point, because of course I don't presume that. I presume that all that stuff is gonna be wretched.


You can name at least three bands that came from Long Island.

All I can say is thank God for Taking Back Sunday, Brand New, and Straylight Run, because not only do they each have some really nice people in them (well, at least the last two do), but now I don't have to pretend to like Nine Days to support.


When you walk in the city and you see two men holding hands...it becomes normal to you.


"Becomes" when? Like, it stops being normal when I'm in Long Island, but when I enter the city I "become" all faux open-minded? I don't get it.


No word ends in an "ER," just an "AH."

If this ever becomes true, I would like for someone to shove an ice pick down my throat so I can never speak again.


You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Long Island.

Yeah, yeah.

©2006

Rage

"Sorry, I suffer from rage blackouts." ~ Summer

My mood was bad as I arrived home yesterday evening, due to a number of factors. One was my reoccurring wrist pain, which is not only painful and inconvenient, but also makes me sad because it means I'll totally never be Mary Lou Retton for real. And the fact that I probably need surgery, which I definitely can't afford...

...which leads me to rage reason number two, which is that I am broke at all times, despite the fact that I closed all freaking weekend long at ShopRite. And the bit of cash that I did have yesterday? I left at home. All I wanted to do with it was buy three things. The first was a garbage pail, so I could be a respectable grownup and stop throwing my garbage bags on the floor of my kitchen. I also needed garbage bags, since I am down to the last one, and garbage pail or not, am not going to start scattering garbage all around my floor; I'll leave that to my cats.

And speaking of whom, that was the final thing on my shopping list -- cat food. I tried so hard to get them to eat the 9 Lives that was on sale six for a dollar, but they simply refused, and as I was running out the door to work, my cats gave me looks that clearly stated, "Where the HELL are you going yet again and are you seriously not giving us new food?" Suddenly, I knew that they saw through me. They weren't just mad that I was leaving; they understood that I have two jobs to work. What they didn't appreciate was the lack of imagination that I was exhibiting, like, did I really think they were that dumb? They knew that I knew that they hate 9 Lives, but I kept dropping it with an apology and running away, insulting not only their refined palates, but also their intelligence.

So I didn't have money to get anything I needed, and let me tell you something, if there's anything worse than having to work two jobs, it's working two jobs and barely affording rent and necessities, and if there is anything worse than that, it is not even having the money for necessities, and if there is anything worse than that it is leaving work at 11pm on Sunday night after working eight hours, knowing I was going to have to face my cats emptyhanded, and if there is anything worse than THAT it is not at all even getting to leave at 11pm, because of Sunday Night Jackass.

Sunday Night Jackass is a regular at ShopRite. The first time I ever encountered him, he seemed harmless enough, even pleasant. The first indication that he wasn't was when he shoved his ShopRite card through my scanner, and people? Don't do that. It's really obnoxious. We cashiers are wearing aprons and nametags (in theory) while scanning groceries; let us just have our tiny bit of dignity and personal space.

So anyway, you know how some guys make up for their manly shortcomings by driving their loud cars really fast? Well SNJ does it by sneaking into ShopRite every Sunday just as we're closing. And I guess he like, hides in the empty salad bar or something, because he was totally not in Brian's customer count at 10:55, yet there he materializes out of thin air at 11, skulking about, filling me with rage. I WANT TO GO HOME! But he saunters up to my register with some stuff, and as I'm indignantly scanning it, he's all nonchalantly holding up a heavy case of Snapple, how much is this, and I'm like, well do you have your card, and that is when he shoves his card around the scanner, just narrowly missing my chest, which really grinds my gears ( Peter Griffin), and then I struggle valiantly with his stupid Snapple, and it's $6.75. "No," he says, "I don't want it," and I am cursing at him in my mind as he then WALKS AWAY, not to put BACK his effing Snapple, but to GO BUY MORE STUFF!

?!?!??!?!?!

So then an employee comes up to buy some cookies, because that's the only time he can do it, which is fine, but he of course has to wait while stupid SNJ goes grocery browsing or whatever the hell he is doing, and meanwhile a random fireman is there with his one little pint of ice cream, and normally I worship firemen no questions asked, but I feel like telling him it's after 11, go buy your pints of ice cream at 7-11 like the rest of us depressed folk, but really my issue is with FREAKING SNJ, who is now not only an asshole who starts shopping when we close, but is holding up a line of men seeking to buy comfort food.

Finally, he strolls back up to the register as I glare at him and he looks all smug, and I finish his order as fast as I can. Just as I am about to ring up Nice Employee Whose Name I Don't Know's Entenmanns, the fireman begins to tell me that he doesn't have his ShopRite card, and I am totally handling the situation, but SNJ is for some reason STILL THERE, and somehow still in my FACE, and pipes in, "It's okay, he can use mine," and I very clearly state "No," because a) we're not allowed to do that, b) it was not yet the fireman's turn, and c) SHUT UP AND LEAVE RIGHT THIS SECOND BEFORE I LEAP OVER MY REGISTER AND BEAT YOU SENSELESS WITH THE COLD CUTS YOU CALLED IN AT 10:55, SUNDAY NIGHT JACKASS!

But no, he does not listen, and he swipes his card over my scanner yet again, and at this point I am nearly blind with rage, so much so that I accidentally scan the cookies and ice cream together, and Nice Employee nicely points this out to me, and SNJ is meanwhile for some reason still in front of my face instead of running away like he should be, and now he is backseat cashiering! Telling me that we should all be having energetic spirits, and invoking the name of the supermarket owner whose name I won't mention, because I could probably get in enough trouble for this entry right now as it is (Go ShopRite it rules woooo!), and I seriously am so angry at SNJ, and thinking how remarkable it is in a town like Plainview, to really stand out in the crowd as the biggest bitch with a sense of entitlement, especially when you include all the Town Bagel customers, but SNJ manages to do it.

So there I am, standing in my kitchen, home from a hellish shift, with no bags to put my garbage in, no pail to put my no bags in, and definitely no Fancy Feast that I promised to my cats the last time I saw them. I could barely look them in the eye, the guilt was so overwhelming. Chip still looked hopeful, but Dr. von Rockenstein knew, and didn't even seem surprised, just resigned.

I couldn't do it. This was like the period of time in 1985 where my mother appeared to lose her mind and every single night made a dinner that involved ground beef, pasta, cheese, and marinara sauce. Sometimes it was elbow macaroni, sometimes rotelle. Sometimes the sauce was Prego, sometimes store brand. But it was essentially the same dinner for literally like a month straight that my mother made, and the weirdest thing was that she didn't seem to find it strange at all. So my brother and I just sort of sat there in the kitchen, much like my cats were doing now, looking at my mother with a combination of bemusement and unease. Much like my cats were doing now.

No! I was not going down that way! I was not going to let my cats think that I was losing my mind, or that all they had to look forward to was a life of humdrum monotony! I might as well become one of those people who buy all the same exact flavor of cat food, like 60 cans, which I never understand.

"I'm sorry!" I cried out yet again as I ran out the door while Doc and Chip stood there, disbelieving, mouths agape. But not for long. I jumped in my car and drove to 7-11, just like the fireman should have done. Two dollars for two tiny cans of food later, I got back in my car.

It made me a little sad to see how shocked Doc was that she wasn't grossed out by her food, and a little perplexed to see Chip rejecting his food in favor of spinning around and around, but most of all, I was happy. I felt tired; I felt broke, but I felt like a good provider. All was peaceful. All was well.

But then -- THEN, like Amy Irving's hand bursting from the grave at the end of "Carrie," came the commercial.

"Lays -- Get your smile on!"

"Get your smile on."

"Get your..."

And that is when everything went dark.

©2006

Why I Could Not Be Expected To Show Up On Time This Morning

1. Chip disturbing sleep by somehow setting off alarm clock at 3 a.m.

2. Dr. von Rockenstein scratching at window all night like vampire brother in "Salem's Lot."

3. David Lee Roth airing call from casino owner, making me think of article read in Marie Claire.

4. Forgetting to get out of bed.

5. No natural light in apartment, causing it to feel like one universal time until I step outside.

6. FX airing "Selfless," one of few good Season Seven "Buffy" episodes.

7. Crying at "Buffy."

8. Using new soap, getting lost in aromatherapy.

9. Chip making run in pantyhose for carefully planned outfit.

10. Lack of desire to wear fancy shoes for carefully planned outfit.

11. Digging out jeans for new, unplanned outfit.

12. "New Messages!"
"New Picture Comments!"
"New Blog Comments!"

13. TBS airing beach club episodes of "Saved by the Bell."

14. Wondering why Mr. Carosi was such asshole to gang even after knowing they were friends with Lisa Turtle.

15. Thinking Lisa was big bitch for being nasty to Screech when all he was doing was waiting on her spoiled, rich ass.

16. Getting distracted by alarmingly low number of "Wooooooooo!"s in episode.

17. Debating whether bacon heated in microwave would start fire behind my back.

18. Unprecedented motivation to do makeup in mirror rather than car.

19. Unprecedented motivation to make hair look decent.

20. Unprecedented motivation to accessorize.

21. Wondering how SBTB gang still so bad at ad libbing after 20 years.

22. Losing Chip, worrying he's in garbage bag again.

23. Finding him when he goes shooting across room like white cannonball.

24. Forgetting swipe cards and money at home.

25. Going back to get them because, why not?

©2006