Instant Karma

I seriously dread whenever I step out of my house at night. No matter how simple and quick the errand should be, I end up being dragged off into Crazyville.

Every time.

Tonight’s trek to the grocery for some cheese and tomatoes started off with me nearly being rammed head on by someone who was driving on the wrong side of the road. Followed ten minutes later by the lady behind me in the checkout lane, who tells me, “You people need to go to the store more often to see how it’s done!” She said this because I did not put down the divider to separate her cartload of pork rinds and baked beans from my cheese and tomatoes. When I ignored her, she went into a tirade about all of my sins, including not moving up in the line fast enough, using a shopping cart when I clearly didn’t have enough items to fill it (I should have used a hand cart), and yada yada crazy talk yada yada.

I finally turned to her (I know, I know) and I said, “Lady, you are NUTS. And I know I’m not the first person to tell you that, so don’t act shocked.” She applauded me, saying to anyone nearby, “Right, there, folks,” waving her finger at me, “A typical ASSHOLE! Right there, he is. ASSHOLE!” At this point, I was just sad for me. I tried to get out quickly. But, of course, the credit card reader wasn’t working. “Ah, ha!” she yelled. “Karma!”