I woke up this morning to good news- I sold something on Etsy. I thought it was a myth that things sold on Etsy. It was a little like going out back to have a bbq with Bigfoot, or meet a mermaid at the local swimming pool.
But this has opened a new problem- I have to ship the sold item. I don't have a box. Since nothing ever sells, we don't keep extra boxes lying around. Now I'm supposed to have this in the mail tomorrow. So I decided to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a shipping box because surely they'll have one that will be the absolute perfect size. Makes total since when you're still riding the delusional high of actually selling something.
I don't know why, but I decided to put on actual clothes for my trip. Normally I just throw on comfy pants and a sweatshirt, but today I put on leggings, a dress, a wrap shirt, and my jacket. Apparently it was a bit much because walking into the store, I got several wide eyed stares like they were waiting for me to pull out a shot gun. Or a long sword. Whatever. It still didn't stop 3 different people from hitting me with their carts. Honestly, I felt like it was on purpose.
So I made my way through the store to the shipping area, avoiding the "HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT DIRECT TV?" people that accost every shopper who makes the mistake of walking down the main isle, and getting seriously annoyed at people being rude for the sake of being rude. No, letting your children block the isle while they throw soup cans at each other is not socially acceptable.
Judging from the shelf labels, there is a box size that would potentially work. It's not perfect, but it's close enough. Unfortunately, the only one in stock has old tape and a shipping label on it. Ok, really? Did someone buy a box, use it, then return it to the store where they put it back on the shelf? Really?! Ugh.
I did get packing tape, though. And some air dry clay to try out. And a bottle of bubbly wine for Steve and I to drink tonight to lament the fact that it's his last day of vacation. He's been off for a month, and it's been great. We didn't get nearly as much done as we'd hoped, but that's just the way the holidays work.
And, of course, the wine was my undoing.
Normally, when I make these little trips, I use the self check-out line because I'm an introvert and also because I can check-out about a million times faster than the bored cashiers. People are stunned and amazed at how fast I can get through the process. But, the federal government in it's infinite annoyingness (screw you auto correct, that's now a word), has decided that alcohol sales cannot be made through self check-out. Insert petulant tongue sticking out. Do they not realize that introverts also deserve a bottle of wine?
So I went to the first express lane. 22 items or less. Apparently some people can't count. The woman had an entire cart full! Overflowing cart full of crap! And to make matters worse, she was unpacking a child's car seat and acting very confused about it. Ugh.
I went to the second express lane. The woman only had about 6 things, but she and the cashier were using the time to gas bag about life the universe and everything, and looked quite annoyed when I had the gall to get in line. How dare I. So the cashier picked one item out of the pile, slowly scanned it, then had to carefully read the screen to tell the woman how much it was. "That much?" the woman replied. "Isn't there some sort of deal? What about that one?" So the cashier had to find the right button to delete the first item, then repeated the whole process with the second item.
I noticed that the woman in the regular check-out next to me was almost done, so I switched once again. All her items were scanned, and the cashier was waiting for her to pay. The woman was talking very loudly on her cell phone in Spanish. It's a pet peeve of mine for people to talk on their phones while in check-out. The woman eventually pays, and the cashier scans my three items. Except she can't bag them because the woman on the cell phone still hasn't picked up her bags and is totally blocking me with her cart! Ugh! Finally, she gets her bags one by one, pausing now and again to yell into her phone- I was wondering if she actually paid for the box of Whoppers that her son was eating in the cart- and piling the bags, one by one, on top of her son.
Finally it was my turn to pay. I swipe my card, then can't remember the pin number. I've had this card for over two years, I've never forgotten the pin number! So I laugh at myself, and explain to the cashier that no, it's not because I'm insane. She laughs and says, "I did that once. You know what it means, don't you? It means you're getting old."
Sigh. Maybe I should've gotten more than one bottle of wine.
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