Save (Mart) yourself a trip if your looking for convenience…(or courtesy)

DISCLAIMER NOTE: With the exception of a few of the assistant mangers at my local store,  I have always found the employees at  Save Mart food chain to be pleasant and very helpful.  This is really just a few people that I have run into. So please, if you’re reading this and you happen to be employed by Save Mart, take it as it’s meant – a saracastic yet truthful post on just  a type of person you’ve probably worked with,  if not there, then at some other place of business.     If you’re reading this and you recognize yourself – SHAME ON YOU, YOU NAZIs!!





Things that piss me off. Let’s start with Save Mart. Witness what their logo statement would profess IF the corporation were to be truthful, which no corporation is, especially these days.


 Look, I know the personnel working in grocery stores have nothing to do with writing policies and protocol.  I know they’re just following the rules as dictated to them by their upper management.  It’s usually nothing personal.  But my neighborhood Save Mart grocery store sure seems to have hired  an overabundance of fat and sloppy, pasty faced, yellow-toothed unattractive female assistant managers who act super pissed off every time they’re interrupted from their frequent bathroom breaks to authorize courtesies for customers – courtesies that used to be the rule instead of the exception. 

And we’ve all seen these types of “management” gals in action – a surly lot normally, who only seem to smile like they really mean it when they’re telling you what you don’t want to hear at the most inconvenient time.  

Just some quick background as it adds to my outrage: Todd and I have shopped at this particular Save Mart for over a year, and many of the personnel know us by name or at least recognize us to say hello to.  A couple of the young female courtesy clerks consider me an older confidant of sorts, and seek me out whenever I’m there to relay their latest parent and boyfriend woes.  Two of the checkers are massage clients of mine and have been to my home.  And last night was the straw that broke the camels back.  Here’s  the  story leading up to the broken back of the camel:

Back in June, someone got a hold of my checking account number and ran up over $500 at WalMart and Walgreens.  I had to cancel my bank accounts and was issued some temporary checks that had no personal information other than my new account number on the bottom.  And the checks (there were 10 of them) were numbered 1 – 10.  Since I had to wait 7 – 10 business days for my new ATM card to arrive, and it was Saturday after banking hours I had no way of getting any cash, so I decided to use one of my checks for grocery shopping at Save Mart.  After an hour of rummaging through items that all looked pretty pricey to me, including dog food, I spent another 45 minutes in a long line while the assistant manager “Tammy”, a short fat grumpy mess of a woman,  pissed off at having to play a lowly  “CHECKER”,  hurries customers through the checkout like she’s marking cattle for the slaughter (or maybe like Hitler sizing up  victims for the next round of  “showers”.)

When it’s my turn, she rings up my purchases quickly without making eye contact, then barks “$74.80, please.”  I pull out my checkbook and license and start to write my name and license number on a check.  Suddenly she announces LOUDLY,  “Excuse me MAM – We can’t take temporary checks here, it’s against policy!”  “OK, next customer please!”  You can see that getting to say this to someone is making her day.


When I try to tell her a digest version of WHY I’m using a temporary check in the first place, and add the fact that I’m a regular customer here, she cuts me off with “I don’t need to know your life story MAM. Policy is We Just Don’t Take Temporary Checks”.  So now a bit irritated I apologize to the line of people behind me, and ask to speak to her supervisor.  She waddles off mumbling”SHIT!” and comes back with an equally pissy, grayer and fatter version of her unhappy self.

“What seems to be the trouble, Mam?” this crab says in a barely civilized tone.  I run through the same story again, faster this time as not to waste her time (I know it takes a LOT of concentration to pop each zit perfectly in the limited space of the bathroom mirror and only 8 hours in the  work day).  I also add that half  the employees on the clock right now KNOW me by name,  and the fact that I have NEVER bounced a check! (Not in a few years anyway).  She looks at me, annoyed and SIGHS a BIG HEAVY OVERBURDENED sigh and says “Sorry, that’s just our store policy” and walks off.  Now I’m on the verge of tears because I have no way to buy food till Monday at 9 a.m. So in front of the 20 people in line who have heard the whole exchange, I do just that and storm off to the parking lot – peeling out of there in my mustang and making a vow to NEVER shop there again. A vow I break  two weeks later when I need to throw an impromptu dinner together for one of our friends and Save Mart is the closest store to our apartment. 


The second event goes something like this:

I’m in the self-checkout and realize that Todd has my ATM card but LUCKILY I have my checkbook!  And even better, the checks are the actual bonafide, all inclusive informatory documents that contain my name and demographics as well as bank information.  My check, the sacrificial VIRGIN check, is number 157.  At the checkout point, I start to write it for the exact amount until I realize both of our vehicles are running on empty and I write it for it for $40.00 over the amount instead.  Well, of course the nice little checker CAN’T authorize my check overage request without a MANAGER’S approval…(Of course, how could I be SO stupid as to forget that?) So I wait with baited breath for the grotesque Tammy, or her equally grotesque older clone,  to coming thundering over.  But instead, it’s a nice looking hispanic lady who looks to have a pleasant personality.  I think maybe I got lucky and will be dealing with a person happy enough with her lot in life not to feel the need to take it out on the customers, but I’m wrong.

Like a nazi war pig she circles me slowly and looks at the check with the printed information on it. “She wants $40”, says the cute young checker.  “NO! I can’t authorize $40! $25 only and HAVE YOU WRITTEN A CHECK HERE BEFORE?”  I almost smart off with, “Well, I tried to but it seems Tammy didn’t like the color scheme or design of my checks”, – but I need the cash so I say only, “Of course, many times.  Would you like to see some I.D.?”  She’s about to put a strong bitch- whammy on me when one of my little courtesy clerk pals comes up to her and says, “This is one of our best customers, give her the $40”.  Winks at me, and walks off.  Surprisingly enough, NWP montones “Fine” and slithers off to instead destroy the “cash on hand” dreams of other hapless customers.  This time I don’t cry.

So after this incident, I figure I’ve done my time at Save Mart as far as being singled out for “checksnubbery”.  In fact, two days ago I actually wrote a check there for $25 over the amount and the whole experience was pleasantly boring and hudrum, like the everyday occurrence it used to be.  The check number I use is 158.  So I figure I’m home free.  (Oh yea of little knowledge in the powers of ASSHOLES…)

Event 3:

After a stressful week of finally getting a place that will take Fluffy, pit or no, and stuffing things into boxes, I find I’ve packed the bread and condiments, along with my ATM and bank transcipts, into a box already transported 10 miles away to our new digs.  So again I have to write a check.  This time the check number is 159.  (I even write in sequence! I’m that careful…)

Of course I’m in a hurry as we have one more trip to make to the new place  before crashing for the night.  I go through self check and write a check for the amount due, only to have the checker tell me, “Sorry, she (whoever SHE is) shut down my till already so I can’t take checks here, you’ll have to wait in line”.  I assure her that’s fine and run over to the only line open.  Taking  my place behind a slow moving line of 10 people with loaded grocery carts, I tell myself to be patient as nothing can be done on my end to speed it along. 

However, when I’m third in line from the check out, the two persons with loaded carts ahead of me graciously allow me to go ahead of them – seeing I was carrying only bread and milk.  Thanking them profusely, I approach the checker and tell her what’s happened at the self-check.  That  takes 20  minutes while she calls the girl over and pummels her with questions about why she wasn’t taking checks from customers. Feeling the heat of the crowd behind me, I mouth ” sorry” and shrug my shoulders. They’re a pretty nice bunch and all but one smiles back. The diatribe between clerks finally finished, my checker reads me the total and I write the check.  She runs it through and is about to hand me the receipt but instead gasps! “Oh no, we can’t accept this check!”  “What?”!!!  I tell her it’s a Wells Fargo check with my name, bank account blah blah blah.  She cuts me off to explain that the problem is the check NUMBER.  Their policy is to refuse any check that isn’t numbered 200 or over.  What?!!!!!!

 I counter back with my usual apologies to the crowd behind me, keep reiterating my disbelief in what I just heard, and ask to see her manager.  Who is another zombie washed out grump; although this one has the start of a faint gleam to her eyes – most likely at the unexpected pleasure of having the personal opportunity to ruin someone’s night with one word – NO!

We engage in the same song and dance. I apologize to the crowd and state my case – and my confusion to why there even is a case  – I again explain I wrote an even lower numbered check here  two nights ago without anyone so much as farting in return.  She ignores what I’ve said, still doesn’t answer my question –  just keeps saying over and over, “We don’t accept any checks with numbers below the 200’s.” 

Now I’m fed up with the absurdity of this crap.  So i look at the crowd and ask if anyone has a pen – I can fix the number right now.  A couple of them giggle. She-Devil is not amused. She starts to say, “Its our pol…” and I come back with, “Hmmm.  So you feel comfortable taking a  check from any  stranger, as long as it’s number is 200 or higher. Did you ever stop to think they may have been bouncing the first 199 left and right?”

I go on, “Or does any number over 200 magically transport the check writer to an beyond-reproach ” status?  Does this “magic number” exempt any check a person writes from being run in your system – the one all groceries have to expos bad check writers who BOUNCE checks?”  “Do you even check those checks?”  Do you want to check my bouncing status? You have the Chex Fax, go for it – but you won’t right?  My check is merely numbered 159.”  Now she’s pissed and I don’t care – I don’t need bread or milk THAT bad. 

SO I part company with the bitch, but not before leaving her with one more thought.  Loudly, so the line of people behind me can hear, I quip “You should know that your “check number checking  system” has a bd leak.  I know for a fact that check 158 slipped through your ranks just 2 days ago.  Right now it’s probably making it’s way through your accounting system, infecting it with viruses and whatever else it can do to foul everything “Save Mart” with it’s evil.  AND I WROTE IT FOR GROCERIES!   BWAH HAAHAHAHAHA… 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed but now I’m happy as well –  I’ve ruined her night like she and others like her at Save Mart have ruined a few of mine, AND I have a great NEW idea for a post – the one you’re reading now.

Just one more thing….The very next day I go back to Save Mart, yes – the same one –  and write them a check for 65.00 using check 270;  which I’ve pulled out of sequence from the box for just this occasion…Two can play at this game..


Get Out of My Face!book – Chapter 1

I swear they're mocking me....

I swear they're mocking me....

See "friend" upper right corner? We used to light his pubes on fire every gym class

See my "friend" - upper right corner? We used to light his pubes on fire every Friday after gym class

2 many pretty icons!


It seems like everyone who’s still breathing is on Facebook these days.  I even joined myself a couple of weeks ago, just to see what all the fuss was about.  It’s ability to connect you with uber-speed to those you heard had died  5 years before but hadn’t, is intriguing, that’s for sure.  But I’ve also been finding out that being a member of  Facebook isn’t just a sign-up and forget it affair.  You can’t just waltz in, goose a few old buddies, exchange mental spit and waltz out again saying, See ya when I see ya! Oh no. You’re expected to make a commitment and spend lots of time there. And it’s a lot of work to stay in the good graces of everyone on your friends list.
Within moments of your first log in click, it seems that every person you’ve ever worked with or gone to school with  finds you, and requests a friend connect.   And then people on their friendslists will contact you with a request because now you have the first person in common.  Then another from that person’s  list who wants to know you because you know Bobby’s cousins third wife’s sisters dog asks to be your friend, and so on. And this isn’t even including the people you’re searching to connect with. Every time you log in it can go on like that for hours, and it gets to where your’e multi-connecting so fast with so many you  feel like an ungrateful piece of shit if you even think to log off before midnight – who needs sleep anyway, right?  But it gets even worse…
Facebook contains an endless database of specialized cutsie applications for every season, holiday, day of the week,  mood, animal, emotion, addiction and bodily function you can think of .  Oh but it’s all part of the fun! Yes, and every member on your list seems to send out and expect back countless different cutsies daily, and you are expected to follow suit.   Upon any log in, you’ll usually find your in box  is again full to overflowing with smiles, hugs, booty rubs, penis tugs, cute pets, hearts etc that you’ve been sent and whose senders appear to be waiting for your exchange gift with bated breath – that’s what Facebook would have you believe anyway.
The time and effort that goes into accepting and returning even one cutsie to the person who initiated it is mind-boggling.  It’s not just a simple matter of clicking on it one time to accept and once again to return the kindness.  This would be way too convenient – not to mention time-efficient.   It’s way more involved than that.  
For example, say you start with the first cutsie exchange request sent at 3 this morning.  When you click to accept ” the sparkly and gay flowerbaby teletubby” that Gena sent to brighten your day, a box suddenly pops up on the screen preventing immediate reciprocal- flowerbaby send off back to Gena.  The box wants you to stop and choose 15 friends and brighten their days like Gena brightened yours –  by sending each of them a flowerbaby teletubby. But there’s a catch  – the box wants you to be original and choose a different flowerbaby teletubby to send your 15 friends AND Gena.
OK fine.  So now you’re held up wasting more time as you try to choose a different flowerbaby teletubby as fast as you can without appearing as though no thought at all had gone into the gesture.  Looking at the other choices, you notice the only ones you deem passable have been LOCKED (whatever that means) and now you”e left deciding between the retarded looking flowerbaby with one wing named “goofy SPECIAL flowerbaby teletubby” and a deranged-looking happy face flowerbaby teletubby that doesn’t have a name but probably doesen’t need one as it’s homicidal expression pretty much says it all.    
So you pick the goofy special flowerbaby teletubby and hope that Gena doesn’t think you’re implying she’s a retard.  Hit Send and now the box pops up and reminds you to pick those 15 lucky friends that will get one too! Now that you’re stuck calling 16 people retards you may as well finish the job or you’ll never get out of this application if you don’t. Click. Another box pops up to tell you, OH NO! you don’t have enough Facebux to purchase all these retarded bugs BUT you’re in luck.  Facebook has Pay pal and for just $2 you can purchase them the old fashioned way!
Screw that, right?  Click Skip to exit this pain in the ass application – you have 1000 others to answer in your In-box.  But before you can leave, another box pops up to let you know that everyone will know what a loser you are if you leave without returning the gift gesture…  Because I’m as broke on Facebook as I am in life, this happens to me all the time. 
So how I handle it is to leave a Wall Post for all the people on my list and everyone on theirs, to let them know why they haven’t received anything from me  in return.  So they don’t think I’m a loser or a Scrooge.
I post something like, “Thanks so much for the gift of your (smiley, fluffy hug, small penis, lewid wink elf,  etc.)  I did attempt to return your gesture immediately but Facebook says I don’t have enough Facebux and I can’t afford the $2 to buy them for real.  For those of you who still don’t appreciate the dilemma this has put me in, please be aware I’m about ready to start my favorite time of the month, and if I get even one snide comment or complaint  from any of you I will be sending out Gonna Kick your Fuckin’ Ass this Monday smilies, and I’ll be showing up in person to deliver the goods.”
So far, eveyone seems to be really understanding about the predicament I’m in.