There is nothing worse than a young horny man, except for maybe a young horny man working a cash register. If it turns out that the young man also has Aspergers Syndrome http://www.webmd.com/brain/autism/mental-health-aspergers-syndrome, then look for somewhere else to shop. The story:
Windex, Windex... where's the fucking Windex, Windex... Voila'! I head to the register and see a wide open one with a pretty brunette working the keyboard and laser scanner. Her candy shelves are a bit disorganized, but she's sweet enough, though not for sale, and I decide to make a b-line for her lane. A Mexican family of 16 with four carts full of everything from power tools to white patent leather shoes, cuts me off and the pretty brunette frowns and sighs and stands erect to greet them with a smile that's only worth 7 bucks an hour. Goddamn Mexicans. I don't see any rubbers in that cart. I move on. My only other choice is a lane where the cashier is leaning against her arm and the flashing white light above her lane announces to her Target puppet masters, Help me... the shit has hit the fan... help me... This asshole doesn't want the hemorrhoid creme after all... help me... people are no longer staring down at their feet and are starting to give me mean looks... help me! A light above a register comes on. I move quickly and almost make it to the freshly opened register before a strawberry blond with tiny, scattered, moles all over her neck and cheek cuts me off with a cart full of merchandise. I wonder to myself, if I lick those little buggers will they come off her neck? She stares down at her cart and starts unloading travel sized tooth paste, shampoo, conditioner, soap, Tampax. She's going on a trip, so she must be in too much of a rush to see that all I have is a bottle of Windex. Goddamn white girl. I don't see any rubbers in that cart. She's standing in front of her cart and bending forward to reveal that the tiny moles stretch further down her anatomy than I thought and they accentuate the tight curves of her 20 something breasts. The flashing light goes solid and the smiles come back to the people in the frenzied cashier's lane, but I decide to stay put for the obvious perverted reasons. The blip of the scanner brings the blonde's show to an end and she pulls forward to the cashier who has obviously taken notice of the tiny moles himself. He's a young descendant of Incan warriors with dark skin and a repaired cleft palate and from the look on his face I can tell he needed to get laid desperately. He is busy devouring the eye candy when he notices me watching him, Goddamn pervert. I don't see any rubbers in your future.
"Hey aren't you Hurley from Lost?" His asshole must have been cleft as well. The blond laughs and I notice the crows feet on the corners of her eyes.
"No, man. I ain't Hurley. Are you Ernie from Sesame Street?" The blond laughs even harder.
He ignores the counter-punch,
"I bet you get that alot."
"Never heard it before now." The blond senses the annoyance in my voice and wipes the smile off of her face with a hand and stares at the cashier who is revealing a rotted tooth and the cruel effects of dyspepsia on enamel.
"You never know around here. We got some Lakers living around here in Redondo. You should have just said 'yes'. You'd have people asking for your autograph and wanting to take pictures with you. You could even get the ladies that way." He motions to the blond with the feminine hygene spray he had just scanned through and she looks at him through squinted eyes; Im not that easy, asshole.
I waste no time asserting my masculinity, "I have my hands full as it is." The blond turns and looks at me like I'm the new asshole in her life and the cashier goes back to scanning her goods.
"You're going on a trip. I can tell." He holds up a tooth brush case and the blond smiles and nods. "Tommorrow," she says. The cashier nods and smiles back and keeps scanning.
I think of the misery this young girl is in for and decide to rub it in, "Tommorrow? You're flying tommorrow? That's completley mental. How can you fly on Thanksgiving?" The blond sighs and smiles and gently shakes her head, "I'm going to Vancouver. We don't have Thanksgiving in Vancouver."
I begin to wonder if there is truth to those blond jokes I've heard, "Yeah, but there's LAX to deal with."
"Do you think it will be bad?" There has to be truth to those jokes.
"Uhh... yeah!" Maybe I was trying to relate to her or maybe my anger at "Ernie the Incan scanner God" had lowered my IQ a few points, but in either case I took notice that I had just turned into a 16 year old suburban, mall-rat.
"I used to work there. I should know." The kid wasn't giving up on his "conveyer belt" sex fantasy that easily.
"Oh? they have a Target there?" The blond chuckles softly at my cock blocking effort.
She asks, "So, you think they will be busy?"
"Well... Let's just say..." The kid trails off and his lack of a quick wit makes for an awkward moment of silence.
"I think the word 'yes' is what you're looking for." The blond looks confused, how did he know what the other guy was trying to say? He must read minds.
"Yeah. You're going to be busy tommorrow."
"Oh wow! Well, I got a lot of packing to do. I guess I better go earlier than I had planned."
The cashier smiles and hands the blond her reciept, "You have a great trip."
"Thanks," the blond eagerly rushes off to get ready for her ride on the big, magic, shiny tube.
The cashier's smile has faded. He reaches over, scans my Windex and without any joy says, "$2.82".
I see the sadness in his face. The girl left without loving him or giving him a phone number or offering to take him to Vancouver with him. He would stay at that stupid register and scan and turn the panic light on when he ran out of nickels. He would go home and jerk off and think of those tiny moles and wish he had a pretty girlfriend who laughed at his jokes. I felt like an asshole for having tried to belittle him in front of his dream girl.
I handed him three dollars, "Here you go, man."
"Eighteen cents is your change. Thanks for shopping Target... Hurley."