Saturday I went to PriceChopper to purchase the wheat germ I forgot on Wednesday. I found it as well as a few other items I believed I needed. On the way to the register I passed the frozen food aisle. At the end of the middle cases was a sign: 1/2 off Klondike Bars... you pay $1.99. Why, one would have to be mad, mad I tell you to pass up such a deal. I further justified this purchase because the six bar package will last me a month.
Please scan your first item and place it in the bag.
All that accomplished I wait for the bus which was there in ten minutes. About five minutes into the ride and a very angry looking teenager boarded. He sat next to me as if I wasn't actually there. I had to squirm to adjust and free myself. Ya skinny jerk! (I thought) Angry youth then takes out a switch blade and begins to clean his finger nails. His finger nails were manicured and more than a quarter inch above his tips. Odd, I thought for only a second mostly because I was preoccupied with the knife/switch blade. He could tell I was staring and quickly turned his head towards me as if to catch me or something. I was quicker and looked out of the window. He went back to his work and I stared again. I also thought that I should get off of the bus here, three or four miles from the downtown exchange. Unfortunately, I was also an hour and 20 minutes from the next bus. -Besides, what if he thinks I'm getting off the bus because of him? But wait, he's done cleaning. He closes the knife and carefully puts it in his right pocket. I still want off. I slowly reach for the cord. I get my hand halfway up the window and he takes the knife out again. He uses both hands to make a fist around the handle. The blade is just touching the seat in front of him. I can feel the cool deliciousness through the bag on my left thigh. The song from the commercial dances across my brain. What to do? What to Do? Something tells me to look at him. Look at him! I turn my head and look directly at him. He can't be 15 years old. He turns and looks at me almost apologetically and puts the switch blade back in his pocket. We sit in silence except for in my head where, "What would you do-oo-oo for a Klondike bar," plays like a broken record.
It wasn't until Sunday evening that I opened the pack. I attacked the sweet creamy goodness as if it were a long lost love.
Please scan your first item and place it in the bag.
All that accomplished I wait for the bus which was there in ten minutes. About five minutes into the ride and a very angry looking teenager boarded. He sat next to me as if I wasn't actually there. I had to squirm to adjust and free myself. Ya skinny jerk! (I thought) Angry youth then takes out a switch blade and begins to clean his finger nails. His finger nails were manicured and more than a quarter inch above his tips. Odd, I thought for only a second mostly because I was preoccupied with the knife/switch blade. He could tell I was staring and quickly turned his head towards me as if to catch me or something. I was quicker and looked out of the window. He went back to his work and I stared again. I also thought that I should get off of the bus here, three or four miles from the downtown exchange. Unfortunately, I was also an hour and 20 minutes from the next bus. -Besides, what if he thinks I'm getting off the bus because of him? But wait, he's done cleaning. He closes the knife and carefully puts it in his right pocket. I still want off. I slowly reach for the cord. I get my hand halfway up the window and he takes the knife out again. He uses both hands to make a fist around the handle. The blade is just touching the seat in front of him. I can feel the cool deliciousness through the bag on my left thigh. The song from the commercial dances across my brain. What to do? What to Do? Something tells me to look at him. Look at him! I turn my head and look directly at him. He can't be 15 years old. He turns and looks at me almost apologetically and puts the switch blade back in his pocket. We sit in silence except for in my head where, "What would you do-oo-oo for a Klondike bar," plays like a broken record.
It wasn't until Sunday evening that I opened the pack. I attacked the sweet creamy goodness as if it were a long lost love.
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