The Karma Bus
“How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.” – Wayne W. Dyer
Cindy and I have been married long enough to feel comfortable with criticizing each other’s personality flaws…on a regular basis in fact. For instance, I’m always on her case about what I call, dancing in front of the Karma bus. This arises when she makes disapproving or judgemental comments about another’s plight or misfortune often preceded by the phrase, “Ha-Ha”. To which, I have to remind her that we are one wrong step, turn, financial decision, bad piece of sushi away from being in the same position so why, for God’s sake, are you dancing in front of the Karma bus!!?
She’s pretty quick with the criticisms of my “flaws” as well. There are many for sure but the top three, calculated by the number of times they come up, are:
- She claims I have a “Superiority Complex”, to which I have to remind her that it isn’t a complex if it’s true. I think I proved a point there, just not sure if it’s in her favor or mine but that’s not germain.
- She also claims that I am “very hypocritical”, to which I have to remind her that there is a valid reason why I do everything I do, everyone else does those same things just to irritate me. Although I can’t really speak to others’ subjective intent, I’m probably not wrong, (see above claim for further clarification).
- She also, also claims that sometimes I can be a real A-hole, to which I have to remind her that.. yes, indeed I am an A-hole. I don’t mean to be, it’s just that I suffer from anxiety so any minor frustration becomes a major frustration.
When I’m frustrated, I tend to create an “internal monologue” in order to cope with the situation. That monologue is usually a serial diatribe venting my frustrations toward the perceived instigator of my frustration. The problem is, my “internal monologue” is usually louder than one would expect, (much like an internal gas bubble you feel burst ‘silently’ inside you but then you notice everyone is looking at you and maybe that little bubble <PiPffffft> wasn’t just in your head); not a mumble, not a whisper but, more like John Madden giving a play by play during Superbowl overtime.
These personality critiques remind me of an incident, well, several really but, I’ll tell you about a particular one that occurred at Walmart of all places.
Before I begin, I’d like to preface the telling of this incident with two things:
1) I am cursed, there is no other explanation. Every time I go shopping, anywhere, there is always some type of shenanigans or a calamity during check-out. My family doesn’t mind going shopping with me but, when it’s time to pay, they run for the car like we just robbed a bank and the cops showed up.
2) Everything in what I’m about to relay to you that’s in quotation marks attributed to anything I am saying is entirely in my head, not spoken aloud. I may be an A-hole but, I’m no monster!…
…..There we are, the whole family, at the Walmart, shoving our cart full of groceries. It’s been a long day and I’m already ‘peopled-out’ losing my tolerance for being out in public. It’s time for check-out and, as per the usual, the family scatters like roaches back to the car leaving me to fend for myself. My curse has tainted the whole cart by my mere presence so having them pay instead doesn’t work, it’s my curse so it’s my burden…apparently.
Knowing how my curse affects everyone in whichever check-out line that I get in, I usually take care in choosing who will be victimized; but not today, I’m too worn out to care. I push my cart into a random lane. In retrospect, I should’ve chosen more wisely.
I look ahead and, although there are only two customers ahead of me, one is an older man.. okay, not ‘older’, OLD! And the woman behind him is OLDER than OLD. This is not going to go well at all, at least one of them is going to have a heart attack or a stroke. Maybe either of them will have both or both will have either, it’s inevitable.
I decided to back my cart out and head to another lane saving both their lives in the process but it’s too late. A convoy of shopping carts has pulled in behind me, I’m trapped! My anxiety is amping up. I feel trapped and Old-Man in the lead, his groceries already processed and bagged and back in his cart, is just standing there staring at the cashier like he’s waiting further instruction. “Oh my God! I nailed it! He’s having a stroke!”. Not exactly.
Apparently in his century of life this appears to be the first time he’s ever been shopping and doesn’t know what comes next.
“Really, you don’t know you have to pay for this stuff?”, my internal voice said with a tone of exasperation emphasized with dramatic eye-rolling.
The cashier, who’s patience has worn thin years ago, shifts her eyes in my direction and finally asks Old-Man if he’ll be paying with cash or card.
Old-Man slowly pulls his wallet out and extracts a credit card with a great deal of difficulty, it was probably fused to the lining of his wallet. OldMan inserts his card, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, the card reader’s annoying protest that Old-Man has done something to offend it.
“Good grief! How hard is it!?”.. my internal, eye-rolling, self huffed.
Old-Man appears a bit flustered now as he removes his card turns it around and re-inserts it, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, takes it out, turns it over, spins it around, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, takes it out flips it over, spins it around, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>.. twelve times!
“Are you kidding me? There’s literally only four possible ways to insert the card!”…I ‘thought’, angrily.
I realize I’m doing this thing I refer to as ‘motor-boating’ where I blow air through pursed lips, <ppbbppbbppbb>. I notice the cashier is staring at me again, probably sharing in my frustration.
The cashier asks Old-Man if he has another card. Excitedly he exclaims he does and pulls out a smartly colored pink and blue card and sticks it in the machine, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP> pulls it out turns it around, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>. Old-Man pulls the card out, smirks as he flips it towards me; it’s a Baskin Robins gift card.
“Uugh, this can’t be really happening!” But I know better, it’s really happening because something like this is always happening.
At this point I’m ready to leave my cart behind and squeeze out of the check-out line but I can’t, my PopTarts and gummy bears are in there and I’m not leaving them behind.
Finally Old-Man brings back his previous card and, by some miracle, it works. I’m relieved.. until I realize that through all of this, Older-Woman hasn’t taken a damn thing out of her loaded cart, there’s just an empty conveyor belt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! For a class of people with such little time left on this planet you’d think you’d be in more of a hurry!!” I said I my head, rather loudly.
More side-glances from the cashier and some throat clearing from the shoppers behind me. Clearly they’re losing patience as well.
“Maaaybe we could get some groceries on the belt there, hmmm?”, my internal diatribe continued as I tried to cope with this mayhem without having a nervous breakdown. But, just as the thought-bubble popped over my head, Older-Woman began slowly placing one item at a time on the belt. I would have offered to help but I’m wedged between my cart and the one behind me. All I can do is offer my silent criticism and feel my anxiety flourish.
“You have two hands, maybe you could put two things on the belt, speed this up a bit?”, I heckled in my mind.
Older-Woman glances at me, a nervous smile on her face as she picks up the pace by a millisecond. She’s clearly realizing that life is indeed too short to live the rest of it in a Walmart check-out line.
At last! Every item scanned and bagged and in the cart.
“That only took about an hour longer than it needed to.”, I silently criticized.
Older-Woman pulls her pocketbook from her oversized purse and from it removes a checkbook.. “a checkbook? Who the hell uses a checkbook?” And then things rise to a pinnacle. Older-Woman asks the cashier who she should make the check out to…
“Who do you make the check out to? Who do you..? Who’s name is in forty foot letters on the front of the building? Who’s name is on the shopping cart handle? Who’s name is on the cashier’s smock? Who’s name is on every bag you put in your cart? Look around, it literally says ‘WALMART’ everywhere! Who do you make the..? Did someone put a bag over your head and drop you off at an undisclosed location and force you to shop!?.. Who do you make the check out to?”
After some scribbling on the check Older-Woman then asks the nail-in-the-coffin question, ‘How much do I make it out for?’
“Seriously, what could go wrong with that information”… and while my mind was generating this coping comment..
..I feel repetitive jabs from the shopping cart behind me. As I turned around to give the woman behind me an incredulous look, I saw the expression on her face, wide-eyed and grimacing. She was mouthing the words, ‘Stop it, be nice’. As I began to tell this woman to mind her own business and stop reading my mind it occurred to me.. that my.. internal monologue.. wasn’t.. entirely..internal.
I may have said that last bit in quotes out loud, actually, to be honest, it occurred to me that I said it all out loud, everything in quotes from the start of this story which would explain the cashier’s stares and side glances as well as the excessive throat clearing from shoppers behind.
Well, what do you know, I am a monster! On a scale from one to ten, my anxiety is at about a 7.3. The check is finally written, the cashier is sliding it through the check reader and it keeps getting rejected. Well, now we know what could go wrong.
After running the check through eight or a hundred times, what difference does it make now, the cashier realizes that Older-Woman has written the check for the wrong amount, it’s ten cents short.
I’m starting to hyperventilate as I check my pockets for change, I have no cash on me. I ask the cashier if she could just add the change on to my bill and she explains she’ll have to void the entire transaction and start over. Oh no you don’t!! That’s not an option!
So now I’m on the floor searching for loose change under the candy rack. Little did I know this would not be my last visit down here. Older-Woman said she might have a dime in her purse and pours out the contents on the check-out stand. Beanbag ashtray, salt and pepper shakers, yarn, stickers, lint, bottle caps, pens and pencils, apparently everything except money. Woozy and flush I realize: It’s Me!, I’m going to have the stroke!
Now standing, I’ve decide to ‘tune out’ for my own safety, to hell with everyone else. Breathing deep I extend my arms out, right hand resting on the top of the candy rack, left hand on top of the gum and mint rack. I realized I was making fists with both hands, clenching and letting go, breathing in and out as my ice-cream is melting on the check-out conveyor. I looked up at my right hand then my left, a Baby Ruth in one and a pack of Fruit Stripe Gum in the other, both squeezed too tight for retail sale. Oooops.
‘Eh-hem’, the mind-reading throat-clearer noised from behind. I looked up and realized Older-Woman had figured out some form of compensation for the missing dime and she and her cart were long gone. Geeze, I must have been out of it. A little flustered that I’m now the one holding up the line I frantically move forward while removing my wallet from my pocket. As I opened it, my debit card fell to the floor. I let out a defeated sigh as the caravan of exasperated shoppers behind me let out a chorus of groans and moans.
Down on the floor again this time not looking for spare change but for the shred of dignity I just lost. Since I’m an avid nail bitter, thanks to my anxiety, I have no fingernails to lift the debit card with so it’s just sliding around the floor. Could this get much worse?
Finally I come across a Mike and Ike smashed into the floor and I’m able to use it to leverage my card up. Excited at my victory, I pop up like a jack-in-the-box grazing my forehead on the edge of the card reader. This causes me to flinch and the edge of my debit card struck the lower edge of the card reader sending my card cartwheeling through the air. Yeah,…yeah, definitely could get worse.
<Honk! Honk!> The all too familiar sound of the Karma Bus barreling down on me. This spectacle has now garnered the attention of the shoppers in the adjacent check-out lines. My card is now lying on the far side of the check-out stand out of my reach.
The cashier is just staring at me, my throat tensing and slowly closing shut, I dart my eyes away from the cashier’s towards my card and back again several times. She reaches over without breaking eye contact, scrapes my card off the counter and slaps it into my hand. “Thhkle” is all I can manage for a ‘thank you’ as I slowly insert my card into the card reader.<EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, ‘CHIP READ ERROR, REMOVE CARD’, “Oh, what the holy hell is this!?” I pull it out stick it back in, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, ‘CHIP READ ERROR, REMOVE CARD’, oh no. I pull it out, rub the chip on my shirt vigorously and slip the card in, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, ‘NO CHIP, SLIDE CARD’.
I put my card in the slider slot and slide my card, <EEEEEP-EEEEEP-EEEEEP>, ‘CHIP CARD, USE CHIP READER’. The cashier tells me that my card has a chip so I can’t slide it, I have to insert the card into the chip reader.
“But the machine told me.. you know what, nevermind.”, I started attempting a lot defense. I stick the card in one last time, spinning wheel, ‘PROCESSING’. “Oh, thank God!” Then, it dawned on me that, it being the end of the month, I forgot to check to see if there was enough money in the checking account…. ‘Processing’….. If it says ‘declined’ and I have to stand here holding up the line to transfer money I’m probably going to… ‘AUTHORIZED’…a collective, store-wide “Phew!” of relief could be heard.
I’m at an 8.6 on the anxiety scale by now. As I wheel my cart through the exit into the parking lot I open the gummy bear bag and begin shoveling handfuls in my mouth like Elvis Presley popping barbiturates.
During my slow roll towards the truck, bits of miscellaneous gummy bear anatomy stuck to my face, my right eye twitching uncontrollably, I replay Karma’s cruel but well deserved lesson in my head and realize that….. I truly am a Superior, Hypocritical, A-hole!
