Lueronda

March 28, 2008

Lueronda
Walmart Cashier
Walmart
The Highway
Anytown, State 00000

Dear Louronda,

I don’t know how I’ve been lucky enough to get into your line twice this week, right after work, when I’m stopping for a “few” things on my way to get my kids at daycare after work. But what ever caused the planets to align, it happened to me twice.

The first time I thought it was a fluke. I thought you were just a bit chatty, but as I was watching the clock, because I have to get the kids by 5:30, I wasn’t super impressed with how your kids were doing in soccer.

But you seemed nice enough, so I just chalked it up to a bad day. I found out you share a house with a roommate, and each of you has two kids. You have one bathroom, and ugly green linoleum on your floor in the kitchen.

I got out of there on time, so I really wasn’t very perturbed.

Fast forward to tonight, Friday night. I still had to stop and get a few things I haven’t gotten for my son’s Birthday party tomorrow.

I needed some fish sticks for dinner and I needed to buy a birthday present for my son’s little friend who is having his own birthday party on Sunday.

Well, since I was walking around, shopping, with my iPod on and I really wasn’t paying much attention when I finally got in line, I as just thinking, “score”, short line.

Until I looked up, and saw you, Lueronda.

Your pretty, spacey little face with the long blond hair.

Your little pink child like watch, and your pink pants with a white t-shirt (yes folks, I said pink pants).

Then I looked up, and saw the older couple you were checking out ahead of me.

They were glassy eyed.

I realized that I was completely stuck, since I had already unloaded everything in my cart onto the belt. I only had half a belt worth of stuff, as did the couple ahead of me.

But, you, for some reason, must assume that we all want to know about your life.

As you picked up each can to scan, you told some tale or another about your kids, about your boyfriend, about your mother.

I felt like I was trapped in trailer-trash hell, and I live in the boondocks.

I looked at you talking...talking...pick up an item, talk about it, put it slowly in the bag and keep on talking.

The lady in front of me, stifled a yawn, which you didn’t even notice as you were busy asking her if you microwaved the Campbell's soup on the go.

She looked at you big eyed, and I know she was thinking, “dumb ass..what else would you do with it”???

Next Lueronda, you began telling us all about the coffee you see people buying that has a button on the bottom and can heat itself.

At this point, I’m about to scream.

It’s 5:05 and I haven’t even begun checking out. I have to be to DC by 5:30, and I know I”m starting to get my bitch look on my face, no matter how much I’m trying to control it.

Finally she gets to me, after thanking the man for bagging his own groceries ( I personally think that he did it out of desperation, so that he could leave sooner).

Anyway, finally you get to me. You comment on each piece of birthday party crap in my cart.

“Oh, you must be having a birthday party”.

You look at the card that says “happy 5th birthday” and ask me stupidly, is he going to be 5??? I’m tempted to say, no, he is going to be 3 but I wanted to get him one of those funny over the hill cards.

You ask me why I’m buying non dairy ice-cream along with real ice cream...well maybe...just maybe I’m worried I might have a kid or two who is lactose intolerant.

Good thing you didn’t know about the gluten free brownies I’m making in the morning too.

You ask about the Spiderman balls, “is he really this into Spiderman”, there again, I’m tempted to say, "no, he would really rather have a Hannah Montana birthday theme, but because I’m a mean mommy like that...I wanted to torture him with Spiderman".

Seriously Lueronda, you don’t need to take 15 minutes to check out 15 items.

I know you must think your life is really interesting, and honestly, it might be.

But when I”m almost late to pick up my kids who are both in preschool, because you keep chatting on and on about microwaving soup, I feel like I’m going to scream at you.

The problem is, you are so damned nice about being a moron, it’s hard to really get mad at you.
Sincerely yours,

Old Crone
Trapped Walmart Shopper