Check Yourself, Wreck Yourself

Technology is like the most bestest thing, ever.

When it works properly, technology is all sorts of gee whiz wonderful. The magic of technology enhances our mundane, everyday lives by eliminating the need for most physical interactions. No longer are we tied to the arcane physical world that surrounds us, not when we have our farms, our Facebook (please stop sending me game requests), Snap Chat, Candy Crush, Instagram, Blogger, Mafia Wars, to name just a bit of the bevy of bullshit that keeps us occupied and isolated. Almost gone are the days of having to deal with actual people.

You can get anything you need, want or desire online. Food, clothing, medicine, sex, whatever; it's there, just whip out your dick debit card. At most, you might have to deal with the delivery guy. You can pay all of your bills online, work from home, do your personal banking, pay traffic fines without having to go to court, schedule services, go to church, order a Russian bride, watch movies and television, regulate our smart homes; the list goes on and on. And you can do it all without having to get out of bed. As for personal interaction such as phone calls, you can always ignore those and answer back immediately with a text. That really annoys the shit out of people and it's fun, too. That salient little fact makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Even when you do go out in public, you can manage to avoid most interactions with people if you try hard enough, at the very least, you can try to minimize them. So, we can all agree that technology is this great, life enhancing wonder bestowed upon us, right? Maybe. It's all fine and well when things work the way that they're supposed to, but technology doesn't always work the way that it"s supposed to and when technology doesn't work properly, well, it's just so much shit.

We've all been there, stuck at the grocery store with just a few things while the place is going insane; long lines are everywhere, the Express Lanes are miles long, people are ramming carts into each other, screaming kids are everywhere, panicked New Yorkers are fighting over the last of the kale and you're thinking, "Dude, I just want to be able to wipe my ass and eat some ice cream (just not at the same time). Wtf?"

And that's when you see it. The heavens part and that gleaming shaft (heh - I said shaft) of light falls from the sky and illuminates the self check out area where there are only a few people in line. There's a reason for that. Those people are stupid and I'm about to show you a prime example of why that is using the principles of Darwinian evolution and the idea of thinning out the herd.

You see, the smarter beasts know to avoid the self check out at all costs, but you're not one of them. It's okay, I'm not either. We can commiserate together, like besties having a tea party. Be sure to bring some fucking ice cream.

However, since you're not my bestie just yet, I'm going to switch over to the first person because that's what works best for me, but you can still tag along.

Okay, so the heavens part and the light falls and all of that dramatic epiphany bullshit is happening and now I hear the seductress call of the short line, even though I should know better than to fall for the Siren's lure. She whispers to me, lies to me. "Come and give it to me baby," she says, "Come on, baby, it will be fast and fun."

I know better than to believe that bullshit. I do, I do.

Tell me more.

"Come on, baby. A quickie. Just a little in and out," the Siren whispers sweetly.

The thought of that self check out was giving me full on wood. My pulse had increased, my palms were sweaty and my breathing was heavy.

It's like being offered a free blowjob at Hooters while you eat their shitty wings. Although, in my case, it's usually something more like this:

Or this:

Nothing says love like clowns, puppies and free candy!

How many times do you think I'm going to fall for that, Mister?

It's tempting, oh so tempting, even though I know it's not going to work out, like that time that I had sex with the woman who had a bad case of the seriously fucking crazies and then I fucked her again and again. I even had sex with her one more time after that. Hey, the sex was unbelievable, but she was clinically and violently insane (I'm saving that story). I know that I'm going to give into temptation and do it anyway. I'm going to give in to the crazy, take the tour, climb in the van, listen to Grandpa, nail the psycho chick and use the self check out even though I know that I shouldn't. How could I even dream of saying no? I'm a man; I'm genetically predisposed to doing stupid things. I can't help myself. It's not my fault. I feel like such a monster.

I was ashamed, but I did it anyway; I walked over to the self check out line. In my mind, I could hear the other customers laughing and snickering at me as I slowly shuffled toward my fate, but there were only two people ahead of me, so I actually thought it would be a quick "in and out."

I'm patiently waiting in line and as I mentioned previously, it shouldn't be a long wait and I'm known for my patience, but now I'm taking notice of the people who are standing in front of me, The first person is a man with three items, but the woman that is directly in front of me has one of those mini shopping carts that appears to be pretty full and just because I'm bored, I start counting her items. I stopped counting after I hit twenty, not because I couldn't count higher with my pants on, but because the signs clearly state twelve items or less and I was getting pissed off by someone who either couldn't count or just didn't give enough of a fuck AND had absolutely no common courtesy, you know, just like when you're stuck in traffic and some asshole is in such a fucking hurry that he has to drive on the shoulder and then wants to squeeze back into traffic, directly ahead of you. Now, I don't know about you, but I learned to count when I was two years old, but the self checkout and express lanes seem to be a freaking black hole that sucks in people that either can't count or are just complete douchebags. Fer fucks sake, it's basic math, people.

To make matters worse, this woman still had her kids roaming the aisles and coming back with more items. Really? I hate that shit; it's incredibly rude. So I did what any self-respecting dickhead would do and I blocked the aisle to keep her snotty little kids from getting past me.

The little bastards pushed past me anyway. I wanted to trip them. I didn't. I think I'm entirely too nice. I'm a fucking saint, I am.

That guy at the head of the line? He moved on up, scanned his stuff, paid for it and got the hell out of Dodge. He got his in and out. This was starting to be more and more like my sex life, all promise and no delivery. I usually end up at the self checkout there too, only it's a lot more satisfying.

Those little bastards are asking their mother for candy and gum. Sure, why not? Go ahead, add some more shit to your shit. She tells them to grab some drinks, too. Mountain Dew. Of course. That's exactly what those hyper little shits need. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I screamed it at her. No, not really, but I thought it right to her face.

Finally, the bitch and her bastard brood step up to the register and she starts taking the items out of her cart. I'm wondering if she can move any slower. But then...

"We forgot to get the eggs," she says. "Can one of you boys run and get a dozen?"

Holy Mother of God, you have got to be fucking kidding me. To make matters worse, we all know where the eggs are, they're at the back of the damn store and on the other side. Her kids take off running and she continues unloading her cart, as slow as molasses. After what seemed like an excruciating lifetime of waiting, they show back up with the eggs and a package of cookies, running like hell for the register. Cookies? Really? They had to stop for fucking cookies? How could this little sideshow of horrors possibly get any better?

Wait, it gets better.

The little fucker carrying the eggs trips over his brother and loses his grip on the carton. The eggs go flying through the air and explode all over the floor. She sends them back for more eggs. I'm now frantically looking around for where they keep the fire axe. It was probably for the best that I couldn't find one.

They're back. I'm still the paragon of patience. Patience is a virtue and I'm a fucking virtuous guy. Really.

Believe it or not, she still hasn't scanned a single item. Apparently, that's what she had children for. The kids start fighting over who gets to scan what. Unfuckingbelievable. Mom decides she will scan instead. It's okay, take your time, bitch, because my time isn't valuable. You're the only one here that matters.

Sometimes I think that the world would be a better place if some people would have been a backseat blowjob or trapped in a condom, but that's just my opinion.

The bitch can't even manage to scan her shit right.

I look around and notice that if I had been in any of the regular lines, I'd be gone by now and stuffing my face with ice cream, but I'm not. I'm still here and my ice cream is melting. If I only had a shiv.

I've started mentally murdering the woman in front of me. I came up with some really inventive ideas, but there were entirely too many witnesses.  If I can't kill the bitch, I might as well kill some time. This goes on and on and on. How fucking hard is it to scan a fucking item and put it in a fucking bag? It's not exactly rocket science, you fucking nincompoop.

The cashier that supervises the self checkout area comes over and scans her order for her.

She starts fumbling through her purse and pulls out... her checkbook.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

The cashier comes over and starts going through the process of accepting her check. The bitch starts looking for her id. All of this time wasted and you're still unprepared? Fuck the witnesses, I'm about to murder a motherfucker.

After more than twenty minutes of shenanigans, my ordeal is over. The bitch and her bratty brood are on their way out and it's my turn to step up to the plate. I'll show you bitches how it's done.

I scan my first item and the machine tells me to place it in the bag..

Fuck me...

This machine is not going to beat me. I can do this at least I think I can. You know, just like the little fucking train that could.

I scan my next item. It won't scan.

The machine is laughing at me. I'm going to kill it.

The cashier comes over and works her magic. I feel like a complete fucktard, but the rest of my shit scans properly. All I need to do is pay and get the fuck out. I swipe my card and... nothing. Nada, zilch, bubkiss. Fuck me.

The cashier comes back over and works her magic, but this time she looks at me like I'm a moron, because the card scans for her on the first try.

Of course it does. Fuck me once and fuck me twice and fuck me, once again as the old song goes.

I'm done! Hip fucking hooray! I can get me ass home, take a dump and then eat some fucking ice cream. I race to my car, throw my bags in and haul ass for home and start unpacking my groceries.

In my rush to get out of the store, I left the bag with the toilet paper at the register. I found some paper napkins and a half paper towel and ran for the bathroom. It wasn't pretty. 

At least I still had my ice cream, right?

Wrong. It had completely melted and looked more like what I had just left in the toilet. 

I fucking give up...

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It's The Simple Things That Kill