Thursday, July 2, 2009

yogurt, hugs, little people in white hoods

Any one of the strange events that befell me tonight as I checked out at Wegman's in Dewitt would've been been twitter-worthy, but taken together they require me to create a blog to tell the tale.

First some backstory:

Mike Tyson's Punch-Out was an unabashedly racist game that for some reason was never the subject of any controversy until the title character started getting all rapey. The franchise has never lost the impressive ability it has to exaggerate ethnic stereotypes. Glass Joe the French cafe-dwelling weakling who would've waved the white flag the moment Von Kaiser crossed the Rheine. King Hippo the so-monstrously-overweight-he's-barely-human Pacific Islander. Soda Popinski, whose name was changed from Vodka Drunkenski for the NES version. Great Tiger....wow. And so on. I received the new Wii version of Punch-Out for as a Father's Day gift. A new character, Aran Ryan (new to me, apparently he was in Super Punch-out for SNES, never played it) is a brogue-having, hyper-kenetic Irish boxer with an annoyingly shouted catch-phrase "YA DON' LOOK IRISH!". Jonathan (four years old) has heard this exactly once. First time I boxed Aran Ryan a few days ago. I believed it to be harmless, and possibly forgotten. I was mistaken.

Nicole (@beaslee on twitter, follow her if you don't already) was busy after work tonight and after running an errand with Jonathan, he and I went to Wegmans to grab some dinner and a few breakfasty items. I knew for sure we were out of milk and apple juice. After leisurely gathering our purchases we headed for check-out lane #21, where the story really begins.

Lane #21 had all the makings of a quick and average check-out. An apparent mother and grown daughter in front of us buying mostly produce. I was even able to fit all of our purchases on the conveyor immediately. This will be quick. Then the waiting began. Jonathan was getting restless and climbing on the bookshelves opposite the conveyor. There seemed to be some sort of confusion over how many Greek yogurts they were buying (I know they were Greek because Nicole sometimes buys the same brand). Back and forth, looking in the bags, counting the yogurts on the conveyor. Jonathan's climbing on the cart and trying to find ways to pinch his limbs in the metal grating. Another two women come over and starting talking to the women in front of us. "Oh, I've missed you!""Oh how are you?" They start hugging. and not quick hugging but serious, long, full-body hugging usually reserved for funerals and graduations. I'm contemplating my options. Take everything and go to another lane? Grab the milk, leave everything else on the conveyor and go to the express lane? Aran Ryan chooses now to rear his proud Irish head.

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

It rings out like a pregnant fart. Probably no one hears it but me. "Jonathan, stop." I try not to make a big deal out of it because he can really sensitive to disapproval sometimes and adding a crying child to this situation isn't going to make it any better.

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"
"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

By now the other women have left and we're back to the original two. Finally over the great yogurt controversy, check-out is proceeding. Or so I think. For no reason at all the cashier, who is older, in her 50's or 60's, just stops ringing the groceries and is talking to the women. Full conversation, hand gestures and all. Seriously?

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

"Jonathan. Stop saying that. What he's saying is 'Ya don't LOOK Irish' not 'I don't LIKE Irish.' Okay?"

"Okay Dad."

The conversation in front of us appears to be over and all the items are rung. Finally. Now we can...wait they have coupons? Jesus Harold Christ. Coupons aren't ringing right, gotta call the supervisor.

We've now been in line for 20 minutes. People have walked in, shopped, checked out and are home. Jonathan manages to get his arm stuck in the cart.

The manager comes and solves the coupon dilemma. Now we can...wait why the hell is the cashier hugging these women? Both of them? What the hell is going on? I JUST WANT TO LEAVE!

I give up and put my stuff back in my cart and move to another lane, giving the cashier in lane #21 the stink-eye the whole time.

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

Pal, I don't really care anymore. We've moved to aisle #19. Looks like a winner, but I've about had it at this point. This cashier is roughly the same age as the last one and is getting chatty with Jonathan "Are you going to go see the fireworks?"

"WHERE ARE THERE FIREWORKS?" Comes from behind me from a customer standing way to close to me.

"I think there are some good ones at the fairgrounds."

I do not give two shits about fire-

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

-works right now. I just want to take my racist child and go home.

"WHERE ARE THE FAIRGROUNDS?!" Why are you shouting crazy woman? She's practically forcing me away from the lane now.

"I'M NOT FROM AROUND HERE." Where are you from that boxing me out like you're Dennis freaking Rodman going for a rebound is acceptable behavior in the check-out line?

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

"Jonathan. Please buddy, stop saying that."

"Do you have any coupons" The cashier says smiling.

"What?"

"I DON'T LIKE IRISH!"

"Do you have any coup-"

"NO."

"Umm, excuse me." He's talking to the cashier. He's a polite racist child. I'm swiping my shoppers club and credit cards at lightspeed. "There's a boxing game..."

I grab the receipt out of the cashiers hand, stuff it in a bag, grab my kid under my arm and make a break for it.

It's raining. We get to the car and I load stuff into the trunk and buckle him in. I tell Jonathan that saying he doesn't like Irish is a mean thing to say and he shouldn't say it. He says he's sorry.

"Can we play Super Mario Galaxy instead?"