Sunday, 13 August 2006

• The Not So Welfare or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Blob

  I was at the local supermarket today purchasing an assortment of dried fruit for the day's snacking pleasure.  Being that I only had a few items in hand, I decided to make use of the "express" 10 items or less line.
  
  I was the second person at said line which would lead one to believe that my journey would be a quick one.  As most consumers do, I assessed the goods being requisitioned by the customer in front of me.
  
  Sure, they looked like a few more than ten, but this would only be the first perturbation I'd have with this fellow customer. 
  
  She was an immense being, and of the African-American persuasion.  I initially thought she might be an entry into the Guinness Book Of World Records for Largest Zip-Lock Bag Full of Whale Blubber and Pig Feces, but she had a few locks of hair dyed some nuclear shade of purple, and I'm convinced a plastic bag of shit wouldn't even be caught sporting that. 
  
  So far... strike 1- more items than the express lane allows... strike 2 - more weight than human biology allows. 
  
  But then the situation reached a crescendo when it was time to pay.  She reached her grubby paw into her oversized purse and whipped out - you guessed it, a Lone Star card. 
  
  For those of you not from Texas or not familiar with the economics of the poor and lazy - a Lone Star card is a hightech food stamp.  It works the same way as a debit card, except with a debit card you have to earn the money yourself rather than have the government give it to you for free.  The Lone Star card replaced food stamps because God forbid you have to be poor and keep track of alot of stamps.  How degrading.  Also, I think many socio-economically disadvantaged would trade food stamps for drugs, and the last thing we need is drug dealers buying Pop Tarts and apple cider with government money.
  
  Seeing her wield this card made me flashback to the previous Thursday, when, upon receipt of my paycheck, I made the bi-weekly frown I now know all too well when realizing how much the government has siphoned off of my paychecks - now well into the few thousands for this year.
  
  I could only imagine the path of this money. Out of my paycheck - up to some government big wig with a list of poor people - and then eventually loaded into the Lone Star Card of this epic mass in front of me.
  
  Apparently, this holdover from the Mesozoic era has trouble making ends meet.  When she's not busy terrorizing Tokyo or capsizing fishing vessels on Lake Eerie, she needs a helping hand from Uncle Sam.  I guess she's having trouble buying enough food to maintain her ideal weight of a metric ton.
  
  I surveyed her goods once more, targeting in on a 12 pack of beer.  This was Budweiser brand beer, the heavy variety of course, because there's no way this Sasquatch was gonna watch her carb count.  What irked me the most is that this was those weird small novelty cans that no one has any need for but they still make anyway.  I'm sure you've seen these on many beverages.  Oh boy, a pack of cokes and their only 8 ounces and oh so cute with the small cans.  No one wants this but people still buy it.  I guess some people think it looks cool and makes them special or something.
  
  -Wow, Bob. I've never seen these small cans of soda before.
  -Yeah well, ya know, you just gotta know where to look. I mean, I know people.
  
  Cool I just finished the whole can in one gulp.  I'm barely even refreshed! That was fun! No, it wasn't fun.  In fact, it sucked.
  
  But I digress.  As I was momentarily phased and in shock by the events unfolding,  the monster woman apparently had some more time consuming transactions pending with the cashier.  The Monster needed 5 dollars worth of quarters.  Who knows why.  I guess after shopping she wanted to drink about 8 cans of miniature beer, pop back some peanut M&M's, and hit up an arcade. 
  
  Hey, I like a good game of Street Fighter II Turbo as much as the next guy, but if I'm at a point in my life where I need welfare to get by, I might try doing something else.  Like, maybe, looking for a job, or loading a revolver and sticking it in my mouth. 
  
  Eventually, the government funded overgrown ball of flesh and clogged arteries waddled out the door and out of my life.  I'm sure she's in a better place now, probably melted into a polyester recliner in front of a wood pane 1950's TV and surrounded by 3 revolving fans.  And I continue my life - a little more angry, a little more jaded, but a little more compassionate.  No, I mean, not any more compassionate.  Same level of compassion as before.  Probably even less actually.
  
  

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