On Stupidity...

OK so normally I don't like to rant about work but I have been developing a theory for a few nights at work that I feel deserves mention. How many times have you ever gone to some sort of massive, corporate American, sprawl-o-thon store such as Wal-Mart, Target, or even a much smaller one like Dillons? Coupla times, right? Now, how many of those times have you been ready to check out but for the life of you, could not differentiate between those registers which were open and those that were closed? I mean, come on! There are so many of them! How are you supposed to know which ones have human beings, utterly shucked of their souls, patiently waiting behind their grim, pastel facades to tally your purchases for the day? It's not like your some kind pf psychic!

This happens all the time, right?

Wrong! And do you know why that's wrong? Let me enlighten you...

Because there is a goddamn light placed atop each register that proudly signals, "Hey, you vapid, inert, fuckwits, this register is open! Bring your Spongebob Squarepants DVD's, Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, and/or whatever other bullshit you have decided is going to fill your completely meaningless lives with purpose today up here and we'll steal your fucking money!" Every single goddamn place with more than three registers has lights on top of them to tell you which registers are open. Look sometime. Its not like I'm making this shit up. And yet what phrase do I say the second-most at work every day? "Sorry this register isn't open right now. She's open down there [points]... Yeah... The register with the light on."

Wow, people. It's not like we're operating under some alien system here. We don't have birds of different sexes perched atop the registers to differentiate between those that are open and closed. You don't need a degree in Zoology to grasp the concept. Light on... open. Light off... closed. Every time this happens to me (and trust me, it happens a lot) I wonder how these people actually managed to drive to my store without hurting anyone. How do they understand traffic signals if the light-thing isn't working out for them? Upon this realization, I instinctively curl up into the fetal position. Basically I live in terror of these people's stupidity.

If you were reading closely, though, you noticed that I said, "the second-most common phrase I say." So what is the most common phrase, you ask? Why it's, "I can check someone out down here!"

It seems that once the people finally figure out that a register is open, they all go there, even if another register with no wait is open 10 feet away. They will stand and bitch about how slow the line is while I am desperately trying to verbally convey the fact that my register is also open. These two simple observations have led me to form the following theory: The world will be conquered single-file.

I swear to God one day I am going to go downtown with a few people and form a line. And we will simply wait. But we will not wait alone. People will join. And as more people join the line, the stronger the pull of the line will become. I can hear it now... "Wow, what's that line for?" "I don't know... but it must be for something good, look how long it is!" "You wanna check it out?" "Eh, might as well."

Fools! The line will go nowhere! Just like your wretched lives! Then I will then get a camera and film the people in the line. They will dance around as all plebeians on camera dance around. "Hi, moms," index fingers being thrust in the air, guys putting their arms around their girlfriends and smirking, and really excited girls who have no idea why they are excited will all make appearances. This will legitimize the line further. The urge to reveal my sinister plot will be almost overwhelming at this point, but I will Live Strong for one reason. It will be at this point that the hippies will come. They will bring their guitars and bongos and they will piss everyone off. People will actually be mad about other people cutting into a line whose purpose still eludes their feeble intelligence. Whatever it's for, by God, they were here first! And no one is cutting in front of them that hasn't waited as long or longer than them. Unless they're hot.

It won't be until the fifth rendition of "Crash" that I will finally reveal what's really going on. I will get on my PA (there will be so many people at this point that unamplified speech will simply be insufficient) and I will tell them that preparations are complete and that the line will finally start to move. I will be met with thunderous applause and uproarious cheers. I will then wholeheartedly assure everyone that I will not sleep until I have punched each and every last one of them in the face for being tricked into waiting in a line for hours that goes nowhere.

There will be confusion at first but eventually they will disperse. My ass will be threatened with many kickings and a T-shirt vendor will have to go hungry that night, but they will disperse. Maybe then people will finally use their fucking heads for more than a hat rack and start going to the lights... Maybe, but I doubt it. Until next time, this has been a Captain Falcon Public Service Announcement.

Falcon out