Drugstore Cult

By Michael Cohen aka Mucho Groucho

Yesterday I went into a Duane Reade a local drug chain. I go shopping for food items there but only after filling my prescription of Klonopin and popping a couple for good measure. I hate shopping and have anxiety being around crowds, lines and too many choices for products. The old Soviet Union had it better with only one choice of bread, milk and other necessities. Why do we need 20 varieties of bread? It takes me 20 minutes to decide which to get and then when I get home I always feel buyer’s remorse. I knew I should have bought the whole grain. Damn this white bread! Wonder Bread??!! What the hell is so wonderful about it?

I always look for sale items as I am always broke and I would steal these items but they have those annoying theft detectors at the door. I picked a half gallon of milk. Sale price: $2.59. Eggs: sale price: $1.79 (jumbo are more expensive). Then to my surprise when I got to the cashier’s station, everything rang up 3 times more than the sale price. Eggs $7.00??? How much was the chicken that laid them $5,000? When I loudly complained, the cashier “axed” me if I had a membership card. “A membership card, what is this some kind of cult or something? Are you sacrificing a stock boy in the back to the god Dagon?” She continued staring at me with that glazed, cashier look. She is probably a card carrying cult member her self. Then she “axed” me if I would like to apply for the card. With 12 people on line behind me I started filling out the form. Name, address, phone number, social security number, last time you had sex, mother’s maiden name, father’s maiden name etc. By this time there was a near riot with people behind me who obviously did not pop a couple of Klonopins like I did. How do I know my father’s maiden name? He never told me.

“Is this necessary????!!!” I asked the cashier with the glazed look in her eyes. I handed her a $100 bill. She yelled toward the back of the store where the stock boy was being sacrificed: “I need approval”. I said “you’re a lovely woman and you have a thick head of hair like the tail of a thoroughbred race horse”. To which she responded: “Security!!!”

A security guard came out of the back room. He looked like O.J. Simpson but I am pretty sure it wasn’t him. “What seems to be the problem?” I said, “look, what’s with the membership cards? You list one price on the shelf and then the prices that ring up require a second mortgage. “That’s our policy sir”. The manager didn’t explain it either and I am pretty sure he was high on peyote. When I began to yell to try to recruit the others on line for a chain store mutiny the security guard that resembled O.J. stuffed my change for a hundred in my mouth and carried me out of the store. “I’ll never come back here again!!” I said with my mouth full. (I also say that in banks when I am unhappy which evokes a cacophony of unceasing laughter from the tellers– I only have about $100 in the bank at any given time).

The security guard and manager followed me outside and tattooed a symbol on my forehead that looked like the Proctor and Gamble logo and since then I have been feeling like I am in some unceasing fog like I am under some spell. They turned me into a drug store zombie but at least I never have to show my card again to get the really good deals and now the cashier and I are dating!

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