Longs Drugstore

All right, I stopped in this Longs location for one item: a stupid bottle of super glue. I wasn’t in the world’s best mood, didn’t have a lot of time, and just wanted to get in, out, and gone.
I walk in and look around for an employee who could point me in the direction of the super glue. There was one cash register open, but the clerk was ringing up folks. I may have been grumpy and impatient, but I’m generally not a rude gal, so I didn’t interrupt the other shoppers.
I walked from one end of that store to the other looking for super glue, or failing that, an employee. From one end to the other. I saw lots of shoppers; I didn’t clap eyes on one employee. Not one. Nor did I see what what might have been super glue displays. Exasperated, my blood pressure elevated, I walked back to the pharmacy, where I figured someone had to be keeping an eye on the bottles of Vicodin and Xanax. The pharmacy tech told me to look in the schools supplies isle.
Finding no joy locating super glue with the rulers, stationary, loose leaf paper, and pencils — and still no employee to be seen — I walked over to the nearest counter, the one-​hour photo place. I swear I am not making this up: I heard someone working (I heard things being moved around and what sounded like plastic or metal being scraped across a table) in the little room off to the side, but when I said, «Excuse me? I have a quick question,» that person suddenly got real quiet and didn’t come out of that room.
I then said, «Hello? I have a question.»
More silence. Then footsteps coming from inside the little room. And then more silence.
Suddenly I didn’t give a royal rat’s ass what other shoppers thought of me. I went back to the checkout isle, interrupted an old lady trying to pay for her stuff, and asked the clerk where the damned super glue was located.
«It’s in the school supplies isle,» she said.
«No, it isn’t,» I said. «I was just there. It’s not there.»
«Ok, try the art supplies. If it’s not there, come back.»
Finally, 15 minutes after I went in, I got my grubby hands on a bottle of super glue.
I went back to the check out stand. I was the only customer there. The clerk had just rung up my my purchase when we’re interrupted by a by a petulant teenager who demands to know when the next shipment of makeup is coming in because Longs is out of her shade of foundation. Now the clerk has already acknowledged me; I’ve got $ 3 in my hand, and she’s holding my super glue. Does the clerk tell her to wait a minute so she can finish with me? Does she me ass. She gets on the phone, calls her manager, and proceeds to start waiting for the manager to show up. Suddenly, I’m not there anymore.
«Hey, can I just pay for this? I need to get out of here,» I say, trying to keep cuss words from coming out my mouth.
Without a word, the clerk puts the super glue in a bag. Before she can hand me the receipt, however, the manage rocks up and she, the clerk, and the petulant teenager start having a rather dramatic conversation about makeup deliveries. The receipt is in the clerk’s hand, but she’s forgotten about me once again. I had to interrupt their conversation, incurring a withering glance from a 17-​year-​old spoiled princess, to get the receipt, my bag, and the f*ck out of there.
Common wisdom holds that «serious» events like divorce or the loss of a job are what contribute to major stress in one’s life. I think the petty crap like what I went through this afternoon at that store is what can do a person completely in.