This past winter I was in Super Target at about 9:56 pm on a Sunday (don't worry, it was extended Christmas shopping hours, so I wasn't keeping any employees working at a till who needed to go home). Anyway, I was in purchasing a cat litter box which needed to be procured THAT night and definitely couldn't wait. Long story, sad ending, no need to relive it.
Anyway, when I made it to the cat supply aisle (almost in the back of this behemoth store, how do they expect old fragile cat women to make it that far?) I was horrified to discover that the only cat box available on the self was approximately the size of a mini-fridge and ran something like $35. I searched the shelves desperately for any other option, but the cat box the size of the backseat of my car was all there was to be found. Already feeling like a lonely, desperate woman for even making this sort of purchase (a feeling a relive every time I have to purchase a 20-pound container of litter) to just grabbed the box and hauled it up to the express checkout.
A very nice young man was tending the till who seemed quite befuddled by my purchase. After I set it on the counter (which both sides of which the cat box were actually extending beyond, meaning the entire counter disappeared under my purchase) the young man finally prounced in the LOUDEST voice I have EVER heard "Ohhhhhh! It is for the cat! I see! The cat, he go inside!"
If I could have become Alex Mack and shrunk into a pubble of goo on the floor I would have done so that that moment, even if it meant jeapordizing my genetic makeup for the rest of my life. A college kid in the next aisle buying Spaghetti-O's and Hamburger Helper distinctly smirked. The lady in line behind me leaned over to examine the box, as though this insight was something which had captured her imagination. Never in my life have I felt so catapaulted on the path to crazy old cat-ladyship.
"Ummmm, yup, it's for a cat," was my reply, trying not be be a jerk. The clerk then announced "Oooooooh, you spend so much on the cat. He so expensive! You have lots of money for the cat!" It was at that point that I was pretty sure I was going to get jumped in the parking lot. How sad would that robber be to discover a bunch of receipts and an old student ID?
The clerk muttered to himself for the rest of my seemingly endless transaction about how I was "so nice to the cat" while I pasted on my best Beauty-Pageant-Contestant-even-though-Miss-Bitch-Georgia-just-stepped-on-my-foot-in-stilettos-smile. After finally making it back to the car I threw the catbox in the truck (seriously, it wouldn't go in the backseat) and locked myself in the driver's seat and collasped in giggles. If I couldn't see the humor in the matter, who really could?
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