LJ Idol Season 8 Topic 5: Inconcievable
I totally had this entry written out, and it was a guaranteed winner - discussing how the movie The Princess Bride got me teen pregnant, but how that was impossible (inconceivable, get it!? Triple points for the title drop!), partly because those words didn't mean what I thought they meant.
But then this past Saturday happened, and brought with it a MUCH better story. Control-a, control-delete. That double deletes it: I don't even remember what the original entry was about, despite being able to read about it in that first paragraph up there. That's how committed I am.
Saturday morning I went to the grocery store to pick up my daughter's birthday cake we'd ordered a week in advance, plus some other party supplies. Little Veronica's Triple-Princess Cake, dusted to look like a lawn for the three plastic princesses to ...play horseshoes on or something, I don't really know, they kind of sit there and smile. Among trees made out of icing that totally don't look like stacked green turds, I promise.
I got in the express lane and started with the paying.
Now, I had a coupon for free ice cream, so I was distracted, asking whether it applied to the quart I'd bought. The cashier had the conveyor belt going while I squinted at the fine print.
I looked up in time to see the cashier zoning out, eyes unfocused, her finger on the conveyor belt button, while my stuff piled up in slow motion like a folding train wreck against the register.
"Oh crap, wait, hang on", I started to say, but didn't finish it before the big bag of ice had rolled back over Veronica's custom birthday cake. Squiiiiiish.
"Oh, sorry", the cashier stated flatly, and then just blandly started scanning the packs of sandwich rolls I'd gotten. Meanwhile I had fallen to my knees in the aisle, in the pouring rain, and threw my hands and head towards the heavens while howling my despair.
Recovering, I asked if we could maybe do something about my half-steamrolled cake. Luckily, a manager was already walking the limp remains back to the bakery, where it was pronounced Dead on Arrival. The exasperated Bakery Lady - who had already packed up for the day - cut open all-new icing bags to make a replacement.
I think she was more pissed than I was. According to her, this was the second time that day that the same cashier had done this. This was cake do-over number two for her.
Thank God this hadn't happened ten minutes later, when the bakery was closed but the party was only an hour off. That would have left little Veronica's third birthday party bereft of fictional royalty sitting on food. And that, my friends, would be ...unthinkable.
For lack of a better word.
But then this past Saturday happened, and brought with it a MUCH better story. Control-a, control-delete. That double deletes it: I don't even remember what the original entry was about, despite being able to read about it in that first paragraph up there. That's how committed I am.
Saturday morning I went to the grocery store to pick up my daughter's birthday cake we'd ordered a week in advance, plus some other party supplies. Little Veronica's Triple-Princess Cake, dusted to look like a lawn for the three plastic princesses to ...play horseshoes on or something, I don't really know, they kind of sit there and smile. Among trees made out of icing that totally don't look like stacked green turds, I promise.
I got in the express lane and started with the paying.
Now, I had a coupon for free ice cream, so I was distracted, asking whether it applied to the quart I'd bought. The cashier had the conveyor belt going while I squinted at the fine print.
I looked up in time to see the cashier zoning out, eyes unfocused, her finger on the conveyor belt button, while my stuff piled up in slow motion like a folding train wreck against the register.
"Oh crap, wait, hang on", I started to say, but didn't finish it before the big bag of ice had rolled back over Veronica's custom birthday cake. Squiiiiiish.
"Oh, sorry", the cashier stated flatly, and then just blandly started scanning the packs of sandwich rolls I'd gotten. Meanwhile I had fallen to my knees in the aisle, in the pouring rain, and threw my hands and head towards the heavens while howling my despair.
Recovering, I asked if we could maybe do something about my half-steamrolled cake. Luckily, a manager was already walking the limp remains back to the bakery, where it was pronounced Dead on Arrival. The exasperated Bakery Lady - who had already packed up for the day - cut open all-new icing bags to make a replacement.
I think she was more pissed than I was. According to her, this was the second time that day that the same cashier had done this. This was cake do-over number two for her.
Thank God this hadn't happened ten minutes later, when the bakery was closed but the party was only an hour off. That would have left little Veronica's third birthday party bereft of fictional royalty sitting on food. And that, my friends, would be ...unthinkable.
For lack of a better word.