After my Dillon's experience, I then had to continue on with the Kroger family and visit the Kwik Shop. My poor husband needed gas before he left for work this morning at 6:00 a.m. So I grabbed the gas can (not trusting fumes alone to carry James to Wichita) and began to fill. I screamed in my head when some of this liquid gold splashed out of my can. I frantically searched in my head for a way to recapture the drops from the pavement; none came. So I wept as though I had tossed a handful of quarters down a black hole.
Mission accomplished, I looked at my total for filling a gas can. $12.98. I used to be able to fill an entire car tank (tho' not in Bush years) on $12.98. Nearly thirteen friggin' dollars to fill a GAS CAN. Sighing, I made my way in to pay. We all know the drill..."Welcome to Kwik Shop" mumbles the clerk, without looking up from his customer, paperwork, stocking duty. What I actually heard was "Welcome to Kwik Shop....now pay for your dry ass fucking". I am still sore in my bottom area after paying $12.98 to fill a stinking gas can.
On my way home, I figured out the "welcome to Kwik Shop" and why it makes me feel like an intruder. If someone were to come into my home without calling first, without knocking, I would have a difficult time making them feel welcome. "Welcome to my home", I would say without turning from my Jewel Quest game or looking up from scrubbing my kitchen sink.
Well hell, now that I think it ALL the way through...I give those Kwik Shop clerks hard earned money when I walk in there unannounced. Now, if anyone were to walk into my home unannounced and uninvited and give me money for whatever I may have....a hockey puck scattered by one of "the boys", a throw pillow that doesn't match anything I own, can you imagine what kind of welcome I would give them? Shit...thought I had it figured out. I don't.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
I think I got dumber at Dillons
Last night I had to make a late stop at my local Dillon's. My husband and I had taken turns the night before hacking to harsh gagging points and he had humbly asked me to get some cough syrup. We were also out of coffee, creamer, and sweetener. At 10:15 pm I make the assigned stop with not much glee in my heart. Mostly dread because I knew funds were low and hate the thought of "declined" coming across the credit card machine. I select the Kroger equivalent to Dayquill and Nightquill.
On a side note: the "twofer" pack of Kroger brand 'quills cost roughly 75.8 cents per ounce. Individually, they cost $3.49 each or roughly 58.6 cents per ounce. READ YOUR COSTS!!
I then find my way to the sweetener (for my Sweet), creamer and coffee; noticing the same poor Dillon's customer in the same spot in line as I saw on my way in. I take quite some time in choosing coffee due to the shock of Dillon's ever changing and confusing "per ounce" prices. I make my selection, add the approximate cost of my goods and make my way to the checkout. I am surprised to see the same gentleman in line. Not sure of his issue - but the "checker boy" had to call in two reinforcement teenage managers to back him in his explanation.
When scanned, my total was $25.19. Much more than I had estimated but I'm not a quick thinker, nor a quick reactor. When I'm in line to pay I am struck as stupid as Kroger needs me to be. I swipe and go. But this time I looked at my receipt upon exiting and find "checker boy" has charged me for a total of four, yes 4, Kroger equivalent 'quills. Not the two that are in my blue plastic bag.
I swing around and notice one of the two "reinforcements" and approach boldly. She leads me to the long closed customer service desk which is manned by a 12 year old. I explain the error. He repeats my story back to me. Then asks if I can return "tomorrow". I still have to shake my head clear...."No, I cannot come back tomorrow. The mistake was made now, I need it fixed now". Twelve year old explains that there is no "refund" option to apply the overage back to my card. But, he offers, he can give me cash. I'm thinking that cash is perfectly acceptable. Twelve year old slaps down $6.98 and says "here you go". This still isn't setting well in my math deficient brain. If I were to have purchased only two bottles of generic 'quills, the total would have been over 7.8% more than $6.98. So, like a cranky old woman, I ask about the tax. He hid his eye rolling when he said, "That's why I wanted you to come back tomorrow". WHAT? WTF? I then told him he could go ahead and add the tax to the $6.98 and refund that also. He rounded up to .50. I said thanks. I was tired when I went in and absolutely exhausted when I left.
On a side note: the "twofer" pack of Kroger brand 'quills cost roughly 75.8 cents per ounce. Individually, they cost $3.49 each or roughly 58.6 cents per ounce. READ YOUR COSTS!!
I then find my way to the sweetener (for my Sweet), creamer and coffee; noticing the same poor Dillon's customer in the same spot in line as I saw on my way in. I take quite some time in choosing coffee due to the shock of Dillon's ever changing and confusing "per ounce" prices. I make my selection, add the approximate cost of my goods and make my way to the checkout. I am surprised to see the same gentleman in line. Not sure of his issue - but the "checker boy" had to call in two reinforcement teenage managers to back him in his explanation.
When scanned, my total was $25.19. Much more than I had estimated but I'm not a quick thinker, nor a quick reactor. When I'm in line to pay I am struck as stupid as Kroger needs me to be. I swipe and go. But this time I looked at my receipt upon exiting and find "checker boy" has charged me for a total of four, yes 4, Kroger equivalent 'quills. Not the two that are in my blue plastic bag.
I swing around and notice one of the two "reinforcements" and approach boldly. She leads me to the long closed customer service desk which is manned by a 12 year old. I explain the error. He repeats my story back to me. Then asks if I can return "tomorrow". I still have to shake my head clear...."No, I cannot come back tomorrow. The mistake was made now, I need it fixed now". Twelve year old explains that there is no "refund" option to apply the overage back to my card. But, he offers, he can give me cash. I'm thinking that cash is perfectly acceptable. Twelve year old slaps down $6.98 and says "here you go". This still isn't setting well in my math deficient brain. If I were to have purchased only two bottles of generic 'quills, the total would have been over 7.8% more than $6.98. So, like a cranky old woman, I ask about the tax. He hid his eye rolling when he said, "That's why I wanted you to come back tomorrow". WHAT? WTF? I then told him he could go ahead and add the tax to the $6.98 and refund that also. He rounded up to .50. I said thanks. I was tired when I went in and absolutely exhausted when I left.
Virgin Blogging
Titles are easy. Thoughts are random and disjointed. In my head is a giant Salvador Dali. I need a USB port behind my ear to transfer to the WORLD all of the fascinating stories I hold. Some stories may even hold a lesson or two.
I find that the process of transferring thought to fingers to keyboard is one of those projects that may sound good (in my head). Just as landscaping my yard (the picture is in my head and it will never ever escape); learning to play the banjo; preparing, from scratch, tiramisu; and anything else that requires more than a two step process....all requires too much focus, concentration, and attention from me. Can't do it. Attention span left long ago. I can't even read a book. When did I succumb to adult ADD? Will this help? Will I be able to unravel and untangle the constant high speed stream running through my matter? Will I have the dedication to "write" as my husband has been begging me to do for 2 and a half years? Before he loved me he asked me to write his story. It may not be told here...but told it will be.
Speaking of my husband, everything held here is a tribute to him. It may not be apparent but I hold him tenderly in my heart always. If it weren't for him, I would have nothing to say that matters.
I find that the process of transferring thought to fingers to keyboard is one of those projects that may sound good (in my head). Just as landscaping my yard (the picture is in my head and it will never ever escape); learning to play the banjo; preparing, from scratch, tiramisu; and anything else that requires more than a two step process....all requires too much focus, concentration, and attention from me. Can't do it. Attention span left long ago. I can't even read a book. When did I succumb to adult ADD? Will this help? Will I be able to unravel and untangle the constant high speed stream running through my matter? Will I have the dedication to "write" as my husband has been begging me to do for 2 and a half years? Before he loved me he asked me to write his story. It may not be told here...but told it will be.
Speaking of my husband, everything held here is a tribute to him. It may not be apparent but I hold him tenderly in my heart always. If it weren't for him, I would have nothing to say that matters.
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