Corpse Run 330: Hanging out
Lil’ bit of bat humor today.
Concerning the strip in a more serious matter, I always feel really awkward when I’m with a group of bilingual people and they suddenly break out into another language. There’s no smooth way to reenter the conversation, and should things turn back to English, I have no idea where the conversation has gone.
Also, why did they need to switch languages?
They must have been talking about me… oh my god… did I forget deodorant today?
Sniff.
Nope, I’m all de-odorized…
Oh my god did everyone just see me smelling my armpits? Everyone must have seen me smelling my armpits…
Did I lock my door before leaving earlier?
…and so on and so forth. Maybe I’m just paranoid.
Maybe I’m not paranoid enough.
Speaking of which, every time I go to a grocery store I’m afraid of being accused of something, whether it be shoplifting or whatever. I don’t feel that way because I’m actually engaging in shady activity; it’s just a part of my basic, everyday psychosis.
This past Monday, however, I was totally justified in my concern. Other than purchasing salt-lick at the Tractor Supply, I had to pick up lighter fluid at the supermarket.
Twelve bottles of lighter fluid.
There’s no easy way not to look like a crazy person while wheeling a cart filled with nothing but flammable liquid.
I decided to get some candy; that would make me appear sane.
So here I am, rolling my cart into the checkout and placing my items on the conveyor belt. “Hi,” I said to the cashier.
“…hey,” he said back. Naturally, you can’t see the text of speech, but I felt like his “hey” was preceded by an ellipsis.
I pulled out a tax exempt form and waved my hand over the lighter fluid, “All of this is tax exempt, here’s the form, and that,” I pointed to the candy, a collection of Chewy Spree, Sour Patch Kids, and Gummy Lifesavers, “that’s for me.”
Again, I don’t know if my “that’s for me” was italicized, but it sure felt that way. I was now officially a crazy person.
Or I thought I was, anyway. The dude didn’t skip a beat, rang me up two separate purchases, and even ran outside to grab me when I left the tax exempt form on the counter.
That guy was awesome, thanks, that guy!
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You don’t notice it as much when you grow up with that. The reason why it happens is because another language provides a different tone and a different way to express your thoughts. If you’re still worried about them talking about you, just listen for your name in the conversation. (I grew up in a household that speaks both English and Creole, but was only raised with English.)
Alex, as an ex retail employee allow me to set your mind to rest.
After about the tenth time some random person comes up to your register with six cucumbers, a jumbo-sized container of lube, and a baby pacifier, you start to kinda ignore the customers.
As long as you aren’t lunging at us with weapons, throwing bodily wastes at us, or actively trying to rob the store we really don’t care what you’re buying.
And yes, I have suffered through all of those examples in my years on the other side of the register.
As a former Cart Pusher, the same can be said for people with weird cars. You see one truck with an entire door made of duct tape, you’ve seen them all. Although, I did see someone pull up in a black Mini-van with the Batman logo on all the doors and the hood, and just had to pull him aside to tell him how badass his car was.
I once had class and was doing a project with an Vietnamese girl. One day, before class while we were talking about our project, her cell went off. As she spoke, her eyes kept darting to me, making me paranoid… And I was politely reading a novel while she was on the phone.
I actually did ask if she had been talking about me, and mention how she kept looking at me. She was apologetic, and assured me that she hadn’t been talking about me at all
I laughed and told her it was fine if she did anyways