I heart the Target Express Lane

There are a number of things I like about the Target Express Lane.

1. The 15 year old this-is-obviously-my-first-job high school kid with bad acne who nervously checks out your things while hoping you aren't noticing his sticky name badge with "Charlie" scrawled on it since his "Official Team Member" name badge isn't finished yet.

2. Examining what other people have in their baskets--the items that they needed from Target so badly they had to make a special trip--the things that wouldn't hold off until the next regularly scheduled trip. Tonight, the fifty something man in front of me with long toenails but great hair had a loaf of white bread and some toothpaste. Not bad, but not as good as the twenty something guy behind me who had three CD's and deodorant.

3. Super Sour Cherry Blast Bubblicious gum. Enough said.

4. Teenagers that aren't students of mine and therefore are nothing to me usually avoid the Express Lane because...well, I don't really know why...I just don't usually have to run into them there. This is, apparently, just a bonus.

5. While it probably goes without saying since it's the intended purpose of the Express Lane, I do appreciate the speed with which I can pay for my things and get out of there. It belongs on the list.

This generally pleasing Target experience tonight was pretty well ruined when I walked out of the store and caught out of the corner of my eye a large silver Mercedes SUV moving into the pedestrian walkway. It's amazing I didn't hear it coming first, since the Gangsta rap pouring out of the unrolled windows had long ago passed "cool" and entered the "obnoxious" decibel level. What's worse, the blonde just-out-of-high-school girl--who has probably never been within 100 yards of a real "gangsta"--driving what must have been her daddy's car (this coming from a girl whose dad actually DID give her a car) didn't seem to acknowledge the fact that the mother with the over packed cart and screaming toddler two steps ahead of me and I clearly had the right of way in the pedestrian walk space and just kept on plowing into the walkway.

Unknown Mom who is apparently as stubborn as I am didn't seem bothered. She and I just kept walking in what seemed to be a slow motion battle of wills. Surely Eighteen Year Old Rich Girl in Mercedes wouldn't drive right into us. Surely she'd stop, realize the error in her ways, and turn down her damn music.

Well, she stopped. With not a lot of room to spare. But when she did, she honked at us. For a long time.

In an unusual display which I can only attribute to my own frustrations with myself for another day of complete and total procrastination and avoidance of The Thesis, I honest to God turned to her, threw out my arm and semi-shouted, "Oh give me a fucking break. We HAVE the right of way."

Oh God.

I think the record should reflect this new low: shouting at strangers, even when clearly in the right. (Which, by the way, is my preferred place to be.)

p.s. If you're wondering, I have actually managed to do SOME work on The Thesis, just probably not enough to merit mention on the blog yet. Stay tuned.