I waited on a charming old bat tonight.
“I want a salad before my dinner. Before. I want an iceberg salad. You have iceberg, don't you? If you don't Albertson's is right there!” she stabbed her wrinkly finger out the window at the grocery store in our shopping plaza. At first I started to laugh – then to choke when I realized the bitch was serious. I told her as mildly as possible that we did indeed have iceberg lettuce, and absolutely did not tell her to reel in her liver-spotted claw and go buy her fucking iceberg salad herself, Albertson's is right there.