PTSD, or Post dramatic Shopping Disorder
If you even want a glimpse of how the world would be just after the Earth Changes. Check out the shoppers on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Grew up on the streets. But I was ill prepared for the thrashing I got from all them white haired ladies at Wally World eh. bawd, all I wanted was a couple sacks of ice and more strawberries. No big deal, I thought.
Made it to the check out relatively unscathed. Not a mark on me. Then the cashier asked me if there was anything else. I quietly said, “yes, two large bags of ice”. You could hear a pin drop as this woman in the next isle made eye contact with me as we both realized there was only two bags left in the ice machine.
As if in slow motion, her and I raced to the ice machine. Here we went dodging people left and right. When I got there, the old lady was already done. She snatched the last two bags. Fact is, she was already half way to the exit, in her motorized buggy. She cheated.
When I looked over my shoulder. It looked like other members of the blue hair squad were cheering her on. When I was trying to leave the parking lot. All them old buzzards appeared to make a circle around my truck. I was caught in this tumult of confusion and chaos as these side walk commando’s tied up traffic for a good ten minutes. Then I had a senior citizen motorcade “escort” me through town. We hit absolutely every signal. The Blue Hair Thug Granny Mafia
I’m OK now. It’s OK, It’s OOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKKKKKK.
I know they did it on purpose.
But gawd seems every time I’m in line, something happens. The guys credit card in front of me jams up the machine and we have to wait till someone in management fixes it. Or I pick a line with a trainee cashier on her first solo. I’ll die of old age, in line at Wally World. My luck, someone would put cigars in my dead hand and leave me outside, by the door.
Gads, my corpse would end up in some kids closet. They would only use me for target practice or Halloween. Worse yet, what if someone thought I was an erectile dysfunction remedies. And they would grind me up a little at a time and put me in their Wheaties. Well, it would be better than an ointment.
Creativity is the byproduct of a fertile mind