I almost went to jail yesterday.
The Sarge and I hit up the beach figuring our days are numbered as a twosome now that the nugget is safe to enter the world. On the way home, we decided to stop on base to grab the bare necessities for dinner. Surprise, by the time we got to the commissary, I had to pee (a bottle of Gatorade and a baby punching on your bladder will do that). Keep in mind that I am ready to birth a baby so when I say I have to pee, we’re talking immediately. By the time I got to the bathroom, it’s possible that I was a little grumpy and didn’t even want to go into the store. I was also hungry so it was a lethal combination.
I decided I would walk the aisles with the Sarge and work on getting my attitude in check. No such luck. Two steps down the first aisle, we encountered a Loud Talker. You know the type of person I’m talking about. She was bellowing across the store to her husband asking if Uncle Bob was coming or not and should she get him some butter beans – oh whatever, I’ll just make him some and put the in the fridge so he can have them either way. It took an intense amount of willpower for me not to scream back at her – really, I had to actually put my hands over my mouth. What can I say, sometimes you get a surge of hormones when pregnant. The Sarge could tell I was about to lose it so he suggested I just walk ahead to the next aisle. Then Loud Mouth screamed at him to reach something for her on the top shelf because she’s short and can’t reach it and blah blah blah. I covered my face and started swearing in Norwegian. Words had to come out, there was no stopping it but I felt a little bit better since she couldn’t technically understand what I was saying. My tone may have given me away but she was too loud to hear it, I’m sure.
Eventually, we made it through the rest of the store without me putting my hands on anyone and reached the check out line. Here’s where things took a turn for the worse. The Sarge must have been in a panic or something because he chose to do the self checkout. With 50 items in our cart. I tried to breathe; it didn’t help. He started scanning and within 3 beeps, something got screwed up. He managed to figure it out but I had already begun muttering under my breath. Every third item either didn’t scan or didn’t put enough weight on the counter so the machine would squawk at him and a light would come on for assistance. He would go back through everything he had scanned and cross reference it to the screen. By this time, I’m sure most of the people around us heard me threatening murder. The girl in charge of the self check out line was trying to help and kept making awkward small talk – probably in an attempt to avoid witnessing a homicide.
Then another loud voice chimed in behind me. I didn’t turn around because I knew who it was – the Sarge’s previous supervisor. Apparently, he had attended the same charm school as Loud Mouth from aisle one. He went on and on about not using the self check out if you don’t know how and someone needing to get this idiot out of the way. Probably not smart to throw gasoline on the fire of a grumpy pregnant woman. Then this genius walked up to me (thinking he was really hilarious) and loudly says, “Whoa, you sure got fat! Dang, didn’t know you were a chubby chaser! Really, you’re huge now!” So I did what any normal person would do and threaten to maim and kill the man my husband reports to. No big deal, it’s just the military. They don’t frown upon that sort of thing.
Finally, the checker got all our food scanned and we were able to leave the store. I’m still confused as to where my husband’s brain went for that brief period of time. That sort of mistake is completely out of character for him. On the drive home, he started complaining about someone driving slow in the fast lane on the freeway. I was kind enough to point out that it was about as annoying as someone trying to scan 50 items in the self check out line. Feel the love.