Tag Archives: waiting in line

I Gave Jim a High-Five

13 Jan

There she was in her black stretchy pants, oversized sweater, tattered hair that needed a Pantene makeover and still sporting the remains of yesterday’s eyeliner and mascara.

Must’ve been a rough night.

Yup there she was behind me.

Waiting in line ...

Waiting in line …

Now supermarket protocol states that when you’re behind someone in line, you don’t cut in front of them and put your groceries down. This is universal standing in line protocol that applies to all kinds of lines. Banks. Pharmacies. Movie theaters. Theme parks. Fast food joints. Even at Starbucks.

You wait your turn.

Something you learned in kindergarten, but seeing how kids are so advanced nowadays they probably learn it in preschool.

Anyhow seeing how I’ve been feeling under the weather, and heavily influenced by Theraflu, I tend to move a little bit slower than usual.

But not that slow blonde-lady-who-cut-in-line-in-front-of-me-at-Trader-Joes.

It took me moment to realize what had just transpired. But after watching her park her cart in the on-deck circle of grocery lines, I searched my cloudy brain for the right words.

“Hey, hey, hey wait-a-minute-one-second. Dude what are you doing?”


“What do you mean what? You can’t just be cutting in line.”

“Well you’re suppose to put your stuff on the small counter.”

“I’m supposed to be standing in line behind this guy respecting his personal space as he’s still unloading groceries. That’s where I’m supposed to be and seeing how you were behind me, you’re supposed to be over there,” I said pointing to the spot where she should have been standing.

A normal person would have remembered their whole New Year’s I’m-gonna-be-a-better-person resolution and apologize for their lapse in judgement and back on up. However she stood there with her cart on the on-deck circle.

I stood in front of her.

Here we were … In a Mexican Standoff on aisle two of Trader Joes.

And this is where Jim came along.

I don’t know if he saw this transpire, or if the universe was conspiring with me, or if he was just up next, but with his most awesome smile and wave, this Hawaiian shirt wearing dude waved me over.

“I’ll take you over here miss, on the next line. You were next.” He said.

I smiled and grabbed my stuff.

Karma had worked its magic because Jim was an awesome way to start a Monday morning. His smile, his demeanor, and his awesome little anecdote about the chocolate I was buying made me forget all about black stretchy pants chick, who was still on the on-deck spot because the dude before us was paying with a check, and he was still writing it out. Jim rang up my stuff and I was on my way.

Black stretchy pants was still waiting.

I turned around and gave Jim a high-five.




The 24-Hour Pharmacy Crew

22 Aug

The 24-hour pharmacy. It’s a bare necessity for a parent, or otherwise helpless soul who’s suffering and reaches the NyQuil adventure or antibiotic stage. And during these late-to-middle of the night outings you encounter a variety of people, but they all have one thing in common: sweatpants.


This is when the Costco sweatpants or track pants make their appearance. Some chicks even find the boldness to wear leggings, when they really shouldn’t be wearing a cotton-spandex blend at all. But this is the 24-hour pharmacy they welcome all sorts of stretchy pants.  And these are most likely accompanied by a t-shirt — a wrinkled one, or the one you were sleeping in. Either way you look pretty tore up, but this is the 24-hour pharmacy dress code. So it’s all good.

Now if this look isn’t magazine-cover worthy enough, there’s usually no make-up involved. Your under eye circles are in a desperate need of a make-over. In addition you probably need of a shower as well.  You’ve got the bed smell. But you’re in some sort of pain, you’re sick ,and you’re tired. So it’s all good.

Then comes the hair. Most guys can go right to the baseball cap and in truth most chicks should do the same. The baseball cap is a great way of hiding your bad-hair shame, so I strongly suggest you use it. I have at least ten of them, and they are part of my 24-hour pharmacy look. In fact, they make up some of my day-time looks too.

Now I wasn’t lucky enough to just need an over-the-counter cure. This is an in-and-out trip and the only delay is the cashier, which happens often when you’re in a rush. However, if you need the strong stuff — the stuff that requires the dude in the white coat and glasses to talk to you — then you have to wait in the dreaded line. And it is in this line that you meet the customers.

You have the crazy one who tries to talk to you and be your friend in line, and all you want to do is get your antibiotic and leave.

You have the customer who passes gas and pretends that it really wasn’t them as they stare at the hearing-aid batteries.

You have the irate customer who’s yelling at the cashier because their prescription isn’t ready, and after all that hostility they go off and cry near the blood-pressure machine as they send text or Facebook messages to whoever will listen to their story.

You have the customer at the front of the line waiting for their turn and making sarcastic remarks about everything in hopes of hearing “Amen to that!” from anybody behind them. But it never happens.

You have that customer, a chick with smudged Maybelline mascara, a worried look in her face, and traces of lipstick still in the cracks of her lips. She clutches her bag and waits anxiously to hear her name. She’s not in the 24-hour pharmacy dress code. She’s wearing heals, with a faint smell of perfume. But she has that bad hair — that bad I just had sex hair and I need my emergency pill. Immediately.

Then you have me … the chick in the 24-hour pharmacy dress code reading O Magazine for free, trying to ignore everyone, as she waits her turn.

This is the motley crew that hangs out between the Flintstones Vitamins and Salopans healing pads. We’re different, but only one thing other than sweatpants unites us … those words … those awesome words …

“Next please.”

Weekly Photo Challenge: Movement

10 Jul



Six words create movement.

I stand at the back of the line wishing for it.

One step at a time … movement.

I stand there waiting, looking at the chocolate cakes, guava filled pastries, and fruit tarts wishing for people to hurry up.

New York cheesecake, Oreo cheesecake, mango cheesecake, white chocolate raspberry cheesecake. But I still don’t hear the words. Those six words.

I can see the glass. It’s crystal clear. No streaks. It reveals the Pina Colada Mousse, Triple Chocolate Mousse, Mango Mousse, and Cappuccino Mousse. My mouth is watering, my stomach is growling, and my eyes are getting bigger. Movement! C’mon! Movement!

I’m barred. I have to follow the social norm. Waiting. Waiting. The lady in front of me smacks her gum as she talks on her cell phone. She smells like she needs a shower. These pastries deserve fresh-smelling people. She doesn’t deserve to be in front of me. I can’t just jump over the poles or black belts holding me back. I’d become a victim of a crazy mob.

I wait.

I get lost in the tasty sweets and forget about the smelly woman. My feet move and I’m not even aware. And then … I smile because I hear it. I hear it!

I can help the next person …