8:30 p.m.

• Well everything came and went without much of a hitch. Although it was funny to point out to the better half that, when she let the nieces and nephew play with my exercise equipment, that I got the third degree when I babysat them a while back and let them goof around with that stuff.

11:45 a.m.

• So the last few days have been hella crazy. In a few hours we will be hosing a cookout for a few people, and on Friday the better half and I went to get some stuff. Did we go to the grocery store for meat? Nope. We had to go to the local butcher guy who lives in the backwoods. Next it was onto Sam’s for some cock breast chicken. I think we got some other stuff, but I can’t remember. We also went to a few other places that I can’t remember, which scares me a bit. Anyway, we did all this shit right after getting home from work, which has been hectic for me this past week. We left for work at 6 a.m., then left for shopping at 4 p.m. It was now past 8 p.m., and I was starting to crash. What made me grumpier was knowing that I was going to have to go into work Saturday morning, and goddamn am I a spoiled brat, considering I used to pull 16-hour shifts with regularity back in the day. But I digress. It was 8 p.m., and Mrs. kkk asked if we should just get alcohol now instead of waiting for Saturday. I’m a person that likes to get things over with, so I agreed. Now did we go down the main road of our area to a place that sells beer? No. We took these backroads that added 10-15 minutes onto what is normally a 5-minute commute. Why do people do this shit? Well, I was already grumbling a bit when we pulled into the Pizza Hut. Yes, Pizza Hut. Pennsylvania has this ass-backwards law that makes it next-to-impossible for places to sell booze, but for some reason this PIZZA HUT has a little cooler to sell beer. I don’t know. I’m not going to try and figure it out.

When we pulled in, Mrs. kkk said “when you go in there get Busch beer.” Wait, why do I have to go in? “Because the man gets the beer.” WTF? When was this a rule? And I’m not a “real” man. When I bother to drink, I drink wine coolers and Kahluas. I don’t hunt or fish. I know dick about automobiles. And you know what? I’m proud to admit this shit, which probably makes me more of a man than you. But now I’m getting off track. I go into the Hut and look in the cooler. I have no idea what these brands are they are selling, and they were all in at least a 12-pack. There’s no way I’m buying these tax-saturated products for one-two people max. Fuck that. I went to the “real” meat shop for this event. I get back in the car and tell the better half that they don’t have Busch. “Well can’t you get something else?” Why then did you tell me to get a specific brand? Look, I may not be a man’s man, but I’ve been around enough to know that some males are just as picky with their choice of adult beverages than women are with fashion design labels. She then tells me to just get whatever, because now fatigue is starting to hit her. I go back in and get two big cans of Coors. Hey, this is our house and it’s not often that we bring booze into it. Anyway, now I get to the point of this story.

I put these two big cans on the register, and the cashier has no idea how to ring them up. She makes some comment that must have been bad, because she got real apologetic with me. Too bad I was zoning out and wasn’t paying attention. The manager comes over and both are trying to figure out how to ring up this transaction. Then the manager says something that snapped me back to reality real quick.

“These two cans are $2.25 each and their ringing up as $4.50 total. That’s not right.”

R’oh?

And no, she wasn’t talking about taxes. And no, there wasn't a line or any reason for them to get frazzled.

Yes, this whole saga was leading up to a customer service story. Feel shortchanged? Too bad. I had to live it. Now if you will excuse me, I have to vacuum and put in another load of laundry before the guests arrive. No, I’m not making this up. And I’m going to be bbq’ing shit this afternoon. At least it’s with my two charcoal grills. Propane is for communists.