Thursday, May 10, 2007

goddamn whippersnappers

I went to the grocery store on my lunch break to buy a few necessities: sunscreen, a bottle of the new vitamin-fortified Diet Coke Plus, and the latest issue of Star. I wasn’t going to buy it, but the cover story is all about “Paris’ Prison Hell”, and my god, that whole situation sent my schadenfreude glands into overdrive. I roll around in her misfortunes like a dog rolls in vomit. "Waaah, I'm being treated harsher because I'm rich and famous!" Cry me a MAC-stained river, skank.

Anyway, when I went over to the sunscreen aisle, there was a gaggle of teenage girls standing there in tiny shirts, eensy skirts with whale tails peeking out over the top, and Coach bags. I noticed that they had set several bottles on the floor, and I thought, Damn, that’s a lot of sunscreen. Glad to see they’re being safe, at least.

And then one of them said, “Omigod, here goes!” She strutted past me in a cloud of Tommy Girl, flicked a disdainful glance at me, and went to the end of the aisle, where she proceeded to uncap a jumbo-sized bottle of sunscreen and HURL it down the aisle, knocking over the other bottles. A puddle of coconut-scented goo began oozing across the linoleum.

“Strike!” she squealed, jumping up and down.

I shook my head in disgust, grabbed a bottle of sunscreen, and walked to the cash register. I was debating whether I should tell the cashier; on one hand, it fell under the "That's not an MP, that's a YP" category, but on the other, I could just see some poor elderly person slipping in the mess and breaking a hip or something.

I didn't have to make that decision, though. A man walked up behind me and said to the cashier, “Excuse me, miss, but you might want to send the manager to the cosmetics aisle. There’s a group of teenage girls over there making a righteous mess.” She thanked him and got on the PA, and the man looked at me and said, “Man, those were some nasty little spoiled bitches.”

Couldn’t have said it any better myself.