Psssssst...... hey.... hey you guys..... guess what?
The Canadians know about me! I know right? It's crazy! (I'm whispering right now so as not to spook them, I'm so excited to have followers in other countries it makes me all tingly and I don't want to scare them away) So anyway, I'm freaking INTERNATIONAL now. Do Canadians like Mr. T? Would a Mr. T gadget attract more Canadians? Or would that be like adding a George Bush gadget to attract Europeans*? ..........Hi Canadians! Don't go away okay?
*Anyone who doesn't get that joke is either not European, has never talked to a European, or doesn't ever watch BBC.
Anyway, today's topic is about drug addicts, because oddly enough I deal with them more that I think I should working at a store that sells blenders in the middle of one of the largest retirement communities in Colorado.
I feel like I should have a disclaimer here, but I'm not sure how they work so....
**Disclaimer: Don't do drugs. They are bad for you and will make you act like the people in this post.**
Now that that's out of the way:
Hi Tweakers! Let me begin by saying how amazed I am at how many of you there are in a retirement community that -let's be honest here- should just pick itself up and shift on down to the Bible Belt where it would be more comfortable than it currently is with it's upsetting proximity to Boulder.
While you are all near and dear to my heart, there are a few of you who stand out in the crowd. We have come to know each other over the last few months and I would like to address you individually.
I'd like to specifically point out this gentleman up front. No, not you sir, the middle-aged gentleman to your right, yes the shifty-eyed one who forgot to put one of his shoes on this morning.
You sir, are astounding. You deserve an award for the amount of effort you put into your high. You come in every few weeks and put so much work into your performance that if you didn't have that inconvenient twitch I would tell you to head for Hollywood because an Oscar is definitely in your future.
You wear the same outfit every time, so as to make yourself easily recognizable, yet you sneak around as if your red baseball cap, ripped up jeans and tank top are a camouflage suit made to blend in with the decorative pillows and stand mixers that occupy the terrain.
You "nonchalantly" peruse through window treatments as if you are here to redecorate, even picking one up every so often and reading the back label with such intense facial expressions that one would think it was an excerpt from a Tom Clancy novel. You then move on to bedding, where you watch an infomercial in it's entirety, nodding to the pitchman as if to say "Oh that is so true".
You painstakingly make you way through the entire store like this until you make it to your ultimate destination: The baking section. It is here you have discovered the ultimate prize and you know if you play your cards right it can be yours. Nestled in between the creme brulee dishes and the cupcake decorating guide you find the homemade whipped cream kit.
Your brilliant, drug addled mind has somehow decided that the replacement CO2 cartridges for the pressurized dispenser are better than anything you could buy on the street, and at ten bucks a pop are definitely worth this excursion behind enemy lines.
You become visibly excited at the sight of them and your twitch becomes a bit more severe. You play it cool, checking over your shoulder every few seconds while slowly reaching for one of the precious boxes. The second your fingers curl around the tiny treasure however, your excitement bursts through and you hastily grab six more boxes. At this point you realize how suspicious you look and quickly open the cupcake guide and begin studying the proper technique for forming fondant roses.
After the panic wears off a bit you make your way to the front of the store to checkout, (because of course you're going to pay for them I mean what are you, some kind of criminal?) and once again encounter a problem. You need to pay for your six boxes of CO2, but you know the cashier is going to be suspicious of your purchase. While you visibly talk yourself through the risks and benefits of your next move you pause every few seconds to peek over the top of the bath-mat display you have chosen as a hide-out to see if anyone is eyeing you suspiciously. This of course is when we finally make eye-contact.
We stare deeply into each other's eyes for a moment before you duck back behind the display and I hear you mutter something to yourself. There is an awkward moment as you step into view when we both think you might just run out the door, but then you paste on what you think is a perfectly normal smile and saunter up to my counter in a way that makes me think you own the entire John Wayne collection and watch it often.
I ring up your boxes and bag them neatly, set them on the counter and tell you the total. I hope you remember this next moment as fondly as I do Sir, because it will forever be a memory dear to my heart. Do you remember? Please say you do... I said:
"Your total today is $67.85"
and you said the most fantastic thing you could have possibly said in that situation:
"Hang on, I have a coupon for that."
That's right, this man knows how to play the game. Not only did he get twenty percent off his special purchase, he paid with a credit card.
I don't blame you Sir, I mean in this economy who can afford to pay full price for a high that's only going to last five minutes? I applaud you and your coupon clipping ways, and just know that I imagine you walking out of the store and joyously flipping the bird to all those suckers on the street paying some dealer full price in cash for what you just bought from a legitimate retail location. I hope you enjoy those CO2 cartridges, and I wish you the best of luck tracking them down at other locations, because unfortunately for the both of us I'm not allowed to sell them to you again unless you can prove you own a pie shop.