H is for Humbug, B is for Booger

From the “are you fucking kidding me” department.

Had to make a trip to the mall. Now, I’m not fond of the mall on regular days, but during the holiday madness, it’s a fucking stupid convention. People stop at the top of escalators, looking for stores they’ve been to a million times. People ooh and aah over some of the scariest shit ever sold. There’s a fat guy in a Santa suit smoking out back somewhere, while his “elves” “try” to placate the waiting hordes.

I thought that if I entered through JC Penney it would be less crowded. My logic? Middle and lower-middle class folk are working today, therefore there should fewer people. (ed. Note: bloggers are their own socioeconomic class. Somewhere between fast food worker and Green Peace petition signature getter.)

Boy, was I wrong. Either there have been a lot of layoffs at the plant this year, or a whole bunch of white trash called in sick, because Penney’s was HOPPING.

I took care of my business, stopped by for a quick Chik-fil-a sandwich (my own little bit of white trash heaven—with extra pickles) and headed back through the JCP to my car.

And what’s the last thing I see, before escaping the mall completely? An older woman (maybe in her 60’s) with that witchie-poo hair I’m so fond of, wearing a pink acrylic sweater set with those old people jeans that look like they’re made of synthetic denim. She was talking on a customer service phone and picking her nose like she’d lost the Hope Diamond up in there. We’re talking double-knuckle digging here people. I managed to slip out the door before she was able to reveal the fruit of her labors.

But suddenly I wished I hadn’t ordered the extra pickles.