Yesterday Miss Ezz called me with a trifling tale of ebonic workplace transgender politics, wanting to unload a bit of her insanity over the phone, then cut herself short, “I’d really like to get this off of my chest, but what can I say Baby Cakes, it’s The Crazy First and here comes another retarded bitch looking to shovel a load of shit that this girl is not about—later!”
That truncated call to The Land of the Relatively Sane from the mad house that is urban retail food got me thinking that I’ve been focusing too much on ‘foodstampers’ and their EBT accounts that load up in alphabetical order like monthly lottery windfalls and power up the retail food economy between the 6th and the 16th of each godless month of the subsidized year.
On the 1st Social Security accounts become recharged like the life bubbles of video game characters. In the old days this meant that The 1st was senior citizen shopping day. These days retail food still receives an infusion of elderly money between the 1st and the 5th. But the old folks on social security are now slightly less than half of the beneficiaries of what has become known as The Crazy First.
Miss Ezz called me back to complain about the large numbers of ‘mentally ill lazy bitches’ who bring their SSI money and ‘hormonal tudes’ to her establishment on the 1st. I have to agree, and was reminded of one ghetto store I worked at where 5 of the 25 female staffers were out on sick leave, receiving sick pay and prescription drugs for depression as they filed for permanent disability. Between obesity disabled and chemically disabled welfare recipients some stores now seem like mental health facilities on the 1st. Last night, upon reporting to work at Free Food For Fat F…s I decided to take notes and count the overnight SSI customers.
1. 5 elderly individuals, 2 black, 3 white
2. 2 elderly couples, 1 black and 1 white
3. 1 married pair of white chemically disabled 30-somethings, with the male of the pair wearing a red shirt that proclaimed that he was ‘ROLLING STONED!’
4. 1 fat tattooed white skank with her Rastafarian sperm donator who were both stoned out of their mind
5. 1 elderly insane white homosexual midget with a pompadour and his 20-something leisure-suited black gay loverboy, these bizarre flamers are monthly regulars
6. 2 mentally disabled people, 1 white, 1 black, attended by their caretakers who seemed to be professional caregivers
7. 2 mentally disabled seniors aided by their adult children, 1 black, 1 white
8. A mated pair of white junkies spending her grandmother’s SSI on doughnuts, or what was left of it after they got high and drunk
9. A white stoner skank spending her mother’s SSI money on snacks for her black boyfriend
10. The pair of white veteran methhead bachelors who live in a shack full of cats showed up for their monthly supply of canned cat food
11. 3 large, stupid good-natured whiteboys shopping for Granny with her handwritten list. Having no idea what a Cornish hen was they asked me. When I explained about the tiny frozen chickens and where they could be found they looked at me vacantly. Minutes later I went over to the frozen meat section to find them sorting through ducks and turkeys. I selected a twin pack and handed them to the big fat boy who was in charge [these kids were about 15 and this was a school night] whereupon they gazed in horror at what might have been a genetic engineering experiment gone awry. I said, “Nobody under fifty eats these things. They became popular before cheese steaks subs were invented.” This seemed to make perfects sense to them, so the leader thanked me as his dumber brothers shook their heads in nebulous cognition, and he marked that particular line on Granny’s list with a stroke so bold it seemed to hint that his ordeal was nearly done…
The balance of the customers were weekly regulars and one time drop ins. This is in a quiet suburban location. In busier urban locations like Fort Hood Rat which services a neighborhood overflowing with halfway houses for addicts, convicts and sex criminals, and the abortion clinics that have become ‘community centers’ who have turned to treating the legions of insane adults generated by rampant drug use, it gets a good deal crazier.
If you find yourself short of money on your next anniversary take the wife to a ghetto supermarket on the first of any month and enjoy the comedy of dysgenic errors that is The Crazy First.
