Aunty Christ buys some beer

1. Won the stupid essay contest. Even without the form. Put that in your ear, sticklers.
2. Didn’t get the ACLU internship.
3. Still waiting for my LSAT scores. And by “waiting,” do I mean refreshing my Yahoo email every 1.5 minutes? Yes I do.

A few nights ago, at the local organic grocery store, I bought two 18.7-ounce bottles of Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal, two giant cans of thug food, an overflowing sleeve of Dancin’ Goat coffee beans, and a carton of half and half. Threw the whole mess on the conveyor belt and watched the checkout boy ineptly hit on the foursome in front of me, who desired to buy a six-pack apiece. They were approximately—I think—22-23 years old, each of them.

“Can I see you fine-lookin’ ladies’ IDs?” our hero said.

They collectively patted themselves and concluded that they had left their wallets at home.

“All right, all right. Next time,” said our red-cheeked lad.

I stepped to the cash register and slid my debit card through.

“You want a bag for these?” he asked. I nodded, and he shook open a tiny paper bag and started to put my items inside

Moments later, I had a heavy, fully packed bag, with the cream carton and the beers’ foily heads peeking out.

“Uh—you kin stick it under your arm.”

“I’m sorry?”

““Wha’?” said our boy.

“That sounded odd,” I said.

“Huh?”

“The way you phrased that was strange,” I said, very slowly, as if talking to a very small child, who is hard of hearing and perhaps a bit slow.

“Wha’?”

“It’s all right,” I enunciated. I balanced the bag in my arms and quickly walked away, taking comfort in the knowledge I’d be home soon with Rich, who shares my disgust in stupidity, wherever it is found.

“Hello, Sir. I think you were telling me where I might stick this? Your ideas fascinate me.”