Message in a bottle
I went to three places after work today -- Rural King, a ghetto-y Dollar General, and the less swanky of our two regularly-visited grocery stores. Rural King wasn't bad at all. I got what I went in for -- six four-pound salt blocks and a bunch of empty egg cartons, for work -- and then got stuff for the pets' Christmas stockings (Does it count as being a yuppie dork if I'm shopping at a farm store when I do it?) and two really pretty horse ornaments for MoMB* while I was there.
Next stop was the ghetto Dollar General, where I was in search of several specific items, also for work. I found almost everything I needed, including a two-pack of Ultrafine black Sharpies, so even though most of the stock was rather horrifyingly cheap, that was awesome. The clientele was a bit questionable, and the only uniformed employee I saw the entire time was walking around with a sugar glider perched on his hand. Half of the store smelled like cigarette smoke and the other half slightly of fart, and I was really glad to get out of there.
Final stop was the grocery store, and everything went okay, though by that point I was hungry and crabby and generally annoyed by everyone. I left the store thinking evil thoughts about the very nice but barely competent bagger and the teenage girl in line behind me who had stood right in my personal space (she had her elbow up on the little signing desk thingie while I was using it). And then the girl's mother chased me out to the parking lot to give me the bottle of wine I left behind, and I thought, Hey...maybe this is the Universe telling me to stop being such a cranky asshole?
Reading: Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk
Playing: Pearl Jam radio on Pandora
*Mother of MB, of course