So, about a week ago, I was shopping at that cheap store that rhymes with Baldy. There’s no need to judge, y’all– when your kids go through four hundred cheese sticks in a week you do what you have to do to keep ‘em flowing. 

Anywho.

If you don’t know, the Baldy pulls in all kinds of characters– regular plain old folks, a preponderance of Mennonites, and then… well, crazy ass muthas. 

It is unclear whether the crazy ass mutha in the story I am about to relate is me or the other person. 

First you need a little back story on me. I am from North County in St. Louis, MO. For most of you this might not mean anything. But for those of you who know, you are nodding your head and saying “oooohhhh…. that explains a lot.” North County folks… well, we’re blunt,  and we don’t put up with shit.   We can be kind and sophisticated and smart and all that, too. But in NoCo, we’re famous for being kind of trashy. As in, snatch the weave off your head trashy. 

I haven’t lived in NoCo for a looooong time. For the most part, I keep myself in check. I am civil and nice and most people who know me have never seen the White Trash side of me. But you really can’t take the NoCo out of the girl. When Hubs sees my head start rolling, he knows the NoCo is about to make an appearance. 

So. Back to Baldy. 

When you are checking out at the Baldy, the cashiers are lightning fast. I mean, they haul some serious scanning ass. I had done quite a bit of shopping that day, and I had a full cart. I was putting my groceries up on the conveyor belt just as fast as I could, and that belt was smoking it was going so fast– girlfriend could SCAN. 

About halfway through my cart, the woman (let’s call her BaldyBitch) behind me puts up that little bar thing and starts putting up her items. This presents a problem, because now our groceries are intermingled. And I have no intention of purchasing her groceries. 

“I really have quite a bit left to go,” I said. “Can you please wait until I’m done to put your groceries up?”

“It’s not MY fault it’s going so fast,” BaldyBitch said.

So she keeps putting her shit up there, and I keep taking that little bar thing and pushing her stuff back. This doesn’t leave me much time to put my own groceries up there, so I am moving even slower than I was before. 

“I’m really going as fast as I can. Can you please wait?” I asked,

“WHATEVER.” 

Bitch. It is so on. 

I felt my adrenaline going. I felt my NoCo rising. The next time her groceries zinged past mine, I took my full arm and swept them all the way off the belt, onto the floor. (Honestly, I really didn’t mean to do that, but it was both effective and dramatic.)

“BITCH!” BaldyBitch yelled, “Now all my shit is everywhere!”

“I asked you nicely, twice, to let me get my groceries up there. Since you won’t, I decided to help you,” I said through my teeth. 

Well, you thought that cashier was moving before. After telling us that “everything is ok,” she put it into overdrive. I mean sweat was beading on my forehead from trying to get my groceries up, but it was clear she wanted both me and BaldyBitch out. BaldyBitch was still talking shit under her breath, but at this point all I could hear was my pulse in my ears. I was so pissed, AND mortified, because now every Mennonite and crackjob in the place was looking at me like I had three heads. 

I had become the crazy mutha in the Baldy.

After I paid, I went over and bagged up my stuff as slowly as I could. There was NO WAY I was going to be stuck in the parking lot with BaldyBitch. I was pretty sure I could take her, but she had a friend with her and the numbers just didn’t add up. Plus, fisticuffs probably would have made me late picking up Squeak from preschool, if I managed to not be arrested in the Baldy parking lot. (Now that’s a phone call that would have been fun to make, “Hubs, can you go get squeak out of preschool? I’m sort of… in the pokey.”)

I watched her bag up her things out of the corner of my eye, and I waited until I saw her pack up her car and drive away. She flipped off the Baldy on her way out of the parking lot. 

I started to leave, but to make matters worse, a good friend of mine who is the store manager came out right about then to find out what the hell was going on. I gave her a guilty wave and slinked out the door. 

Part of me feels like a dumbass for getting so keyed up. But the other part of me is all, “BRING IT ON, BALDYBITCH!” 

It’s probably a good thing I moved out of North County.