It's A Foolproof Plan If There Aren't Any Cops Around.
I went into this organic co-op yesterday because I had $73 on me and a hankering to buy a bunch of shit I don't need and won't eat, and also because I was wearing a pair of pants that are too long and sort of "spare utility" looking, and I hate to waste that social bling at the Safeway. So I tote my cart full of organic lotion (made with pure bark! seed! oil. extract. um, gland.) and magic homeopathic water up to the cashier, and after the cashier has made up prices for everything and ripped the cash money from my hand, he looks at all my shit at the end of the counter and he looks back at me and asks casually, "Oh, do you need a bag?" And it's made very clear here by the cashier's raised eyebrow hooks that the only people who actually
accept the offer of the bag are weak Escalade drivers who leave all of their bathroom faucets running while they shop and who throw dirty styrofoam and lit cigarettes into National forests on their way home.
"Noooooo," I admonish. A bag? Kill a panda? What? "I'll just..." (and I start to gather up my roots and twigs and shit) "I've got all these pockets, I can just... sort of... wait!" It hit me. Like a genius brick. "I AM ON A BIKE."
"Ohhhh!" Eyebrow hooks nod and wobble in understanding and acceptance. A bike! A bike trumps everything. You could run over a baby on a bike and everything's cool because that baby was probably just going to grow up eating meat and voting against the legalization of marijuana anyway.
"Here you go!" And he tosses me a bag. I emptied fourteen pockets of crap into my bag and walked outside... head held high, car keys smartly hidden, smiling at Begging Dreadlock Kid, nodding at "Hey, We Told You To Keep It Outside" Tarot Music Loud Singing Lady, just enjoying my cool pants and my two dollars and my bag, and then I stole some dude's bike and rode home.
