By BEN R. WILLIAMS
Excuse me. Excuse me.
Let me get this straight.
You’re telling me that these 24 cans of Scrambles’ Delight cat food cost $16, correct?
And I have a coupon that allows me to save five dollars on a 24 pack of Scrambles’ Delight. That puts us at $11.
And NOW you mean to tell me that I can’t use this additional coupon for ten percent off any purchase of $12 or more? Just because my other coupon brought the price down below $12?
That is the most nonsensical thing I have ever heard in my life, and I refuse to accept it. I’d like to speak to a manager.
Listen: I don’t care that you have no control over the computer program that you scan these coupons into. I don’t care that you’re making minimum wage at this grocery store and are limited to 39 hours per week so they don’t have to give you benefits. And I certainly don’t care that I’m holding up a line of people in order to save $1.10. This aggression will not stand.
What happened to “the customer is always right?” My entire life, the world has bent to my demands, and now you’re telling me that I can’t get what I want?
Buddy, you’re going to hear about this. I’d like to speak to a manager.
Just because these two coupons cancel each other out and one expired during the first Bush administration, that doesn’t mean you can treat me like garbage. I’m here to save $1.10, and you’re going to acquiesce to my demands.
Just look at this guy behind me in line trying to buy a 4-pack of Fleet Enemas. See how he looks so furious, and how he keeps shifting from one foot to the next? That’s because he’s angry at you, the cashier, for not working with me on these coupons. Or so I assume, I have a difficult time understanding that other people have inner lives like my own.
This is simply ridiculous. I’d like to speak to a manager.
When I was born and my parents saw me for the first time, they took turns holding me and imagining the future course of my life. They projected their hopes and dreams upon me, envisioning that one day I would become a successful doctor who saves lives, or a teacher who molds young minds, or an engineer who makes the world a better place. And I’m sure they also hoped that I would stand up for myself, which is why I know they would be proud to see me at the grocery store at 3 p.m. on a Thursday wearing a spaghetti-stained “Salt Life” T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, attempting to haggle the price of cat food down by a buck ten.
You should be ashamed. I’d like to speak to a manager.
You know how you know this is a serious problem? Time is our only non-renewable resource. Even if I lose all my money, I can always earn it back. But I’ll never get back the time I spend on any activity, and neither will the people behind me in this grocery store line. So if I’m willing to squander 20 minutes of the precious gift of life arguing with an underpaid teenager about the price of cat food, you can imagine how seriously I’m taking this matter.
This is the greatest outrage in the course of human history. I’d like to speak to a manager.
And you know what? I’m only here because I can’t pass up a deal. Can you imagine how angry I’d be if I actually owned a cat?