Low Blood Sugar Psycho

Yesterday I didn’t have to go in until 6 pm, so I made a big, long list of all the stuff I’d accomplish during the day. I’d do the dishes and put away laundry and work on an article and edit the ad copy and go to the gym and meditate before work. Of course, I only crossed off three of those things: dishes, laundry and editing. I got dressed to go to the gym, got in the car and headed that way only to drive right past it and on to Bread & Company.

I was starving because I’d only had Naked’s Green Machine juice and hard-boiled egg whites. The closer I inched to the gym in traffic the hungrier I got. I couldn’t imagine running on the treadmill or lifting weights without eating something first. I’d never been to the Green Hills Bread & Company before but the parking lot was packed. I found a spot right up front that was encroached upon by two SUVs on either side. The one on the passenger side of my car was much further over her line, but I had no problem getting out on my side, so whatever. I parked there.

Once inside and in line I noticed all the sandwiches had meat except for one, so I got a tuna salad sandwich on multi-grain. I asked the vacuous girl weighed down by her eyeliner if I could get it with no bacon. "Extra what?," she shouted at me from behind the counter. "No BACON," I overemphasized and she just titled her head at me and turned to make my sandwich. Luckily it came without bacon and no extra anything else.

Then I got in line to pay and was caught between some annoying, hipster kids. The pin-wearing ones in front of me wanted the greasy haired guys behind me to join them up front, but the greasy haired kids refused to cut line. "We’re not going to monkey jump," they said, but I noticed the other line was shorter so I moved to that one just so I wouldn’t have to hear them.

There were two middle aged women in the shorter line ahead of me. And it seriously took them seven minutes a piece to finish their transaction at the register. The first woman wanted a dozen cookies wrapped and bagged individually and she wanted to know if she could get fruit tea by the gallon. She paid for half of her purchase with cash, the other with a credit card. I stood holding my tuna salad sandwich, quivering from hunger and waited.

The next woman in line was worse. She kept adding things to her order. She added another danish or truffle FOUR TIMES after being given her final total. Her speech was as lazy. "Hmmmm, let me go ahead and have another croissant. Do you know if there are anymore almond croissants, those are my Billy’s favorite? Can you check?" I lifted my face to the ceiling and breathed deep, calming breaths. Once it was confirmed that no, there were no more almond croissants she paid. WITH A CHECK. And somebody must have taught her just yesterday because she had to start over for some reason. I was beginning to think this Stepford slut was high on something. She got her bags of food and put away her wallet and checkbook, fumbling all the while. She made a movement toward then tables and I thought I was just about to be able to purchase and eat my limp-looking sandwich when she stepped in front of me again to ask for an extra cup of ice. I’m not sure how I didn’t lose it.

Fifteen minutes later I was stuffing my face with tuna fish when I looked outside to see the slow-ass woman in line ahead of me who needed extra ice trying to wedge her fat ass and all her bags into the narrow space between our vehicles. It came as no surprise to me to discover she was the hag who’d taken up one and a half spaces in the limited lot out front. It gave me perhaps too much pleasure to munch my sandwich while watching her struggle to get in the oversized gas guzzler she’d haphazardly parked in my spot. I sat waiting, smiling, plastic  knife drawn, ready if she even thought about slamming her door into my car.

Luckily I didn’t have to cut a bitch up.