And Another Damned Thing...

When in line with five other really tired, hungry people behind you, that is SO not the time to teach your kids economics.

All I wanted was my pizza.

The lady in front of me wanted to assure that her kids get that extra fiddy cents an hour when landing a job, all because they can count.

She ordered her pizza and I sighed in relief. It took her five minutes to decide on the type of crust. There have been the same three types since the 1960's, but, please, take your time.

"Oh, my daughter wants a slushee." She gazed down at the youngest. "Go ahead, Megan."

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

"I want a slushee. A pink one," Megan declared. The elderly cashier looked positively orgasmic with delight. Well, roll me in sugar and call me cookie, isn't that fucking precious.

"That will be ONE DOLLAR, AND EIGHTEEN CENTS!" the cashier hollered. Because we all know that if you don't understand the math? Holler. No speaka dee English? Holler. If Crystal has a migraine? Holler.

"Ok." Megan whipped out her Hello Kitty coin purse and with her tongue poking out, methodically began counting out pennies.

Sweet bleeding Abraham, someone fucking gut me and cover me in bleach. It will be less painful.

"And eighteen cents!" Megan declared after what seemed like an hour. The entire line behind her breathed a collective sigh of relief.

As I inched forward, using that "breathe down your neck so you'll move faster" mentality, the mother spoke.

"Now, your turn, April."

Oh, HELL TO THE NO. Somebody better get that little bitch a tissue cos' she's about to be upset when I tell her the slushie machine is OUT OF MUH'FUCKIN ORDER.

I intervened. "Ma'am, no offense, but could the rest of us order and pay? And then little Argyle-"

"April."

"Whatever, she can count out pennies till the cows come home."

"We were here first."

I was stumped.

The cashier still had the dopey, beatific smile on. "ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTEEN-!"

"We can all hear you, gramma. Me, them, the next county over. No need to shout," the Hispanic man behind me said. I fell a little in love with him.

"Oh, well, just so cute, learning to count-"

"Darling. Super. Moving right along. April? Shall we?" I flapped my hand at her. She turned and began the painstakingly slow task of counting more pennies.

I turned to the Hispanic man. "What the hell with twelve dollars in pennies? Did they lose all their dollars at the strip joint?" He was impassive. Meh, wouldn't have worked out, anyway. He was shorter than me.

"There!" April cried triumphantly.

"Yes! Awesome! Good job, April! High five! Here's a dollar for next time!" I crowed.

"Don't take the dollar, April. Go on. Go over there with Daddy and tell Kimberley to come here."

Kimberley? What?

As we all stood dumbstruck, all of us, an older girl came over.

"Kim, order and pay for your slushee," Mom said.

The cashier beamed. "Yes, that's-"

"One eighteen, Kim. Time's a wastin'," I said.

We all had faith in Kim. She must have been at least ten. Old enough to have dollar bills, surely. Right?

As Kim opened her wallet, we all held our breath. The group leaned forward for a better view of her coin pocket and there were cheers and hugs all around when she pulled out a crumpled one dollar bill.

She laid this on the counter and then looked at the coins uncertainly.

"Eighteen cents," I offered helpfully. The mom shot me a nasty glare.

Kim pulled out two dimes. Yes!

"No, honey, that's twenty. You need eighteen," Mom said.

I almost had an aneurysm. "She'll get two pennies back! She can pass them on to the younger ones! They love pennies!" I sputtered.

"I'm trying to teach them correct change!" Mom snapped.

Kim looked concerned. "It's okay, honey," I said. "Nothing you did."

Kim turned back to the change. She reached for the dime and looked up at her Mom. Seeing the okay, she put that back in her coin purse. She then slowly withdrew a nickel and placed that on the counter.

"Good!" Mom said. "That's fifteen. Now, what do you need?"

Kim chewed on her bottom lip. I slapped my hand to my forehead. The Hispanic man began praying to the Virgin Mary and the cashier was loudly whispering, "3! 3 cents, honey!"

Kim pulled out another nickel and we all groaned. She put it back. She reached for the dime on the counter and I inwardly screamed, "Holy shit! It's one eighteen! A dollar and eighteen cents! Your sisters know it! Mom knows it! A brain damaged monkey missing three toes could figure it out! I just want my MOTHER EFFING PIZZA!" before she withdrew her hand. She slowly counted out eight pennies, making eye contact with her mother each time she placed a penny down and smartly closing her wallet when the deed was done. She got her slushy and off they went, these mavens of the accounting world.

I stepped forward. "Good heavens. I need whatever you have pre-made and a large-"

"Oh, dear," the cashier frowned. "Oh dear, oh my."

"What?"

"She gave me too much money, by four cents. If she's going to learn-"

"Mabel. It is Mabel, right? 90 percent of the free world can't count and that's why we have these lovely machines that spit your change back at you. If you so much as think about calling them back here and starting that dog and pony show again, I will put you through the oven. With extra cheese."

My pizza was cold.