I have a problem with acid reflux — just like most Americans. I take Prilosec, which has a lovely (& common) side effect of diarrhea. That’s my big secret in life.
Luckily, this problem doesn’t bother me all of the time, but when it does bother me, I need to find a bathroom in 2.8 seconds.
So I’m standing at the checkout line at Target, this week, when I suddenly need to go. The woman in front of me is buying chips, diet soda, and about $82 worth of crappy stuff that she doesn’t need. I’m buying Crest Whitestrips. That’s it. Neither one of us really needs to be at Target, so I decide to take a deep breath and wait it out.
Just then, the woman whips out her checkbook as a form of payment. It’s 2010. You can’t tell me this woman doesn’t have a debit card. What the holy hell?
The woman writes out a check for EIGHTY-ONE DOLLARS AND SEVENTY-NINE CENTS and of course it takes her nine minutes. Then she has to give her drivers license to the Target employee who has to locate & enter the North Carolina ID number. Could the font be any tinier? No. The employee has to fish out her reading glasses from a drawer. Then I have to wait while the woman writes EIGHTY-ONE DOLLARS AND SEVENTY-NINE CENTS in her check register because, god forbid, she stuff the receipt in her wallet and enter the purchase into her check register at home.
I almost died.
Do you write checks at the store? Do you carry around a checkbook in your wallet? Are you stuck in 1994?
I hate those people — diarrhea or not. If you write checks, heed my warning: develop some social skills and some manners. Get a debit card, yo.