A Grocery Store Thriller

I visited the grocery store to pick up things for Memorial Day. I won't bore you with my full list. I can tell you I that I didn't buy any harmonicas or small wallabies, so aside from those two things, use your imagination.

I finished shopping and made my way to the self-checkout.

I'm not one to brag, but I'm an absolute self-checkout stud. I'm so fast that I'm kind of shocked they haven't offered me a gig yet.

Using self-checkout is like climbing Everest solo because you felt like you could get things done sans sherpa. There's danger involved, but that's part of the thrill. You don't need some short guy to carry your sleeping bag and tell you if it's snowing.

I have an iPhone, sir. I will not be needing your services.

I began ringing up items without the safety net of a trained grocery store technician. All went according to plan as I rang up item after item with finesse and accuracy, then stuffing it in a bag (I even wrapped raw hamburger in bag before putting it in another bag. That's a pro move, ladies and gentleman).

As I was wrapping things up and loading items in my cart. I noticed something was off. I crouched down for a close inspection and discovered a brown liquid pooling across the checkout area.

Fight-or-flight kicked in, but it was my self-checkout prowess that kept me from screaming and shitting myself. I remained calm and assessed the situation.

I ran through the Rolodex in my mind and took note of the color of every item I had purchased.

Then, with Rainman-like speed, I determined that there could only be three culprits: Iced tea, Dr. Pepper, or a can of baked beans.

Due to the considerably low-viscosity of the mysterious liquid, I almost immediately ruled out the baked beans, but like they were a criminal with a prior record, still kept an eye on it

I looked to my dog-eared gallon of ice-tea and pointed an accusatory finger in its direction. A brown liquid, low-viscosity, and packaged in the flimsiest plastic bottle I've ever encountered.

I flagged down a grocery technician. I know I had chosen to make this checkout journey alone, but in keeping with the Everest analogy, they were like the helicopter rescue team who come in to help when I realize that the sherpas probably knew more about the terrain than I did.

I explained the incident and had them cart away the offending iced tea. As it was carted away it continued to argue its innocence. I shot a steely glare its way.

But, then (and here comes the M. Night Shyamalan-ian twist) there was suddenly more of the mysterious liquid surrounding my cart. 

I took a step back and tried to alert the grocery technician that our nightmare was over, but, all, no words came out of my mouth.

With a shaking hand I reached for one of the bags and pulled out a leaking six-pack of Dr. Pepper.

I was stunned. No one ever suspects the doctor.

I alerted the authorities (the grocery store people) that I had sent away an innocent beverage and that I had captured the actual culprit.

As it was carted away, the six-pack yelled something about how it would've gotten away with it "if it weren't for those meddling kids and their dog," but I had no idea what the hell it was talking about.

As I walked to my car, I thought to myself, "How can I make such a boring-ass story blog-worthy?"

I'm still trying to figure that out.