The warehouse that I work at gives us gift cards for the supermarket that we service. Now this store is kinda sorta upscale (read that expensive) so I normally don't shop there until I accumulate about a hundred bucks worth of gift cards.
So today I decided to go shopping. I needed various and sundry items including beer, dogfood and a healthy supply of rawhide bones for CharlieGoddammit to gnaw on instead of my fucking arm.
Now because this store caters to customers that are a bit more sophisticated than Poor White Trash, whenever I go there I tend to dress down, so I put on the pants and coat that I was wearing yesterday - just a tad dirty from reclining in a tractor rut while attempting to call in coyotes. Besides, I haven't done laundry and didn't have any clean pants. I'll be fucked if I'm going to do laundry just to go shopping.
Okay. I get in the store and am loaded down with 30 cans of dogfood, a weeks' supply of rawhide bones and my own shit and head over to get some beer. When I get to the beer aisle, there's a cutie in there stocking the shelves.
Oooh, a victim!
She sees me standing there scanning the shelves for my favorite brand and comes over to offer assistance,
"Can I help you find something, sir?"
"Yeah, you sure can. You got any Busch?"
It takes a second for it to sink in. Then her smile falters and she clamps her legs together so tight she cuts off the circulation to her feet.
"I-I-I'm sorry? Do I have bush?" She's stuttering, stammering and turning the cutest shade of red.
"Yeah. Busch. You got Busch?"
"I beg your pardon?" She don't know whether to run or what. My God, she's being confronted by a sex offender right here at work.
"Busch Beer. Do you have any Busch Beer?"
"Oh! Busch BEER! Beer! I understand now. No, I'm sorry. We don't carry that brand."
Jeez, these kids nowadays need to get their minds out of the gutter.
And I need to find another store to shop at. If they don't carry Busch, they don't need me as a customer, gift cards or not.