A Lube Job...

I stumbled across this story obviously written by a family man, and I laughed my A off! written by the *unknown* blogger, here goes the tale...

My daughter, wife, and I went out to Wal-Mart recently, shopping for the essentials: soap, shampoo, toilet paper, aspirin, and lube. After a half-hour of shopping, we found everything on our list except for the personal lubricant. My wife and I scoured the pharmacy aisles in search of it, but came up empty. As you can imagine, neither of us had the courage to go up to the customer service counter and ask them, "Where do you keep the joy jelly?" So we abandoned our effort.

Later that day we had to go out again, this time to the local K-Mart. As I was passing by the pharmacy aisle, I broke off from our little troop and started "reconning" for the lubricant. I soon found the spermicide and the condoms, so I knew I was in the right place. And then I saw it. There on the shelf it sat, my grail. Actually it was a box, a box small enough for me to palm in my hand. I looked at it, I looked past it. I walked up the aisle like I was browsing for Q-Tips. Then I walked back down the aisle and grabbed it. The reach for, and the subsequent grasp of that product was such an artistic display of sleight-of-hand that even David Copperfield would've gone "Whaaaa??? How'd he do that!?!?"

With the goal in hand (so to speak), I caught up with my wife and daughter, all the while carefully palming the little box so I was able to keep it out of sight from my daughter, other shoppers, K-Mart personnel, and God.

Of course, this is where the story gets blogworthy.

We live only a mile or two from the Big K, and shop there often -- as do our friends, co-workers, neighbors, my daughter's teachers, waiters and waitresses at various restaurants we frequent, our bank teller, and the town mayor. Everyone shops there. YOU probably shop there. Needless to say, I'm in stealth mode when I give a quick wink and tell my wife, "Mission accomplished."

It's a Saturday, early afternoon, and K-Mart is crowded. People are lined up five deep in each checkout line. The three of us are standing in line, and when my kid asks if she can buy a pack of Skittles, I agree. She could've had a case of Skittles, as long as it would not draw attention to my purchase.

Finally, we're at the cashier. She starts ringing up our various items. She slides the notebook paper over the scanner, ping, then the Doritos, ping, then the 12 pack of Coke, ping, the instant grits, ping, the Skittles, ping, then the small box ...

No ping. Nothing.

She slides the box over the scanner again, still no ping. The cashier then breaks out into this wild arm flailing product-to-scanner shuffle slide in search of the missing ping. Now, Leslie whisks my daughter away to the car, shielding her eyes from the horror. I'm alone in the checkout line that is now seven deep and counting, waiting while the skilled K-mart cashier tirelessly tries to ring up my wretched little box of perv. OK, it's only lube, but the lady behind me is looking at me as if I'm going to try and sex up her cat. Sweat is dripping from my face.

Finally a light goes off in the cashier's head, she breaks down and enters the UPC numbers manually into the cash register. Still no Frost-ing ping! She re-enters the numbers. NO PING!!! She calls over the manager, hands the box over to said manager who then proceeds to go through the wild-shuffle, UPC number entry routine. Still no ping. For some reason this item is not in the store's computer. The manager calls over to the pharmacy, asking the pharmacy clerk to give her a price on the item's UPC code. Apparently, the pharmacy clerk is in on this little conspiracy because she asks the manager for the NAME of the product.

"Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly," says the manager. (I don't recall the exact name.)

"Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly?" the pharmacist repeats.

"Yes, Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly," says the manager, taking care to emphasize each syllable for the benefit of those at neighboring registers.

"Please hold."

So now the manager is on hold, looking at me all slyly like "Yeah, I'd do ya." The lady behind me is horrified, the teenager behind her is snickering like Beavis, and the rest of line is looking at me like I'm holding up their heart transplant. Vomi-Nervousa!

Finally, said clerk gives the manager the proper UPC code. The manager overrides the cash register and inputs the price. She apologizes for the delay and explains that the box has a 20 cents off offer on it, and that the computer didn't recognize the cost difference.

"I went through all that for 20 CENTS?!?" I wanted to scream, but of course I paid for my purchase, and picked up my bags humiliated. But just as I was about to walk away, I looked at the cat lady, half-smiled, and confidently said, "It'll be worth every penny."