Tuesday, August 6, 2013


Have you noticed that the local 7-Eleven has introduced a huge grill near the cash register?  They have taquitos, sweaty weiners and all sorts of sausage-like things dripping on the grill.  This is already in addition to selling cigarettes and lottery tickets.  It now takes 10 minutes to get through a lineup at the store.
I'm a simple guy.  I like to get a slurpee once in a while.  Okay, okay—every day.  But my point is, I have my change ready.  I know how much the slurpee is.  The coins are in my hand.  Boom, boom—in and out.  However, recently some head honcho at the 7-Eleven marketing head office has sent out a memo that asks—no, DEMANDS—that all staff try to upsell stuff at the till.  Full disclaimer: I have not actually seen the memo.  I have absolutely zero evidence that the memo exists.  However, I picture the head office guys all sitting around smoking Players Menthol Extra-Filtered 7-Eleven cigarellos and eating 7-Eleven nachos dripping with complimentary 7-Eleven chili and cheese and then, like convenience-store Zeus on Mount Olympus, they hurl a lightning bolt (the memo) from the mountain (the head office) to the normal working-class people below (the clerks).  Shame on you, convenience-store Zeus!  I curse you and your delicious slurpees.
Here's how a typical conversation goes at the 7-Eleven:
Clerk: Hey, what's up, average person buying one item.  Is that it for you?
Me: Hello.  Yes.  Just a slurpee.
Clerk: Hey, did you want anything from the grill?
Me: No.  No thanks.
Clerk:  Spicy Sausage?
Me: No thanks.
Clerk: Taquito?
Me: Nope.  I'm good thanks.
Me: Ha ha.  Yes, I heard you.  I'm good.  I don't want anything.  Just the slurpee.
Clerk: Donuts are 2 for a dollar.
Me: No thanks. 
Clerk: Come on.  Two for a buck!
Me: Seriously.  I seriously don't want anything else.  I literally just want the slurpee.
Clerk: Please buy some lottery tickets.  I will give you a bag of free chili sauce.
Me: Please stop.
Clerk: There is a green chili pepper in the bag of chili sauce.  I saw it with my own eyes.
Me: If I buy something, can I still punch you in the teeth?
7-Eleven has also started another disturbing trend—sticking as much garbage as is humanly possible on the checkout counter.  Can I set my slurpee down in order to hand over cash?  Nope—not unless you want to knock over the display of 60 Tic Tac boxes!  What's the matter, you don't like FRESH breath?  And by fresh, we mean cotton candy flavoured pellets.  What's this?  Why yes I would like three slabs of beef jerky that have mysteriously appeared in my version off to the side.  It should be a counter, but now it contains meat.  Great.
There are always three clerks that work at the 7-Eleven at any given time, but for some reason, two of them are always—and I mean always—counting inventory.  They are counting magazine, bags of chips, cigarettes, lottery tickets—while one poor soul works the one cash register as the Soviet Union breadline grows longer and longer into the horizon. 
Here's a thought—there will be less to count if you sold items!  Ring that cash register!  And no, I don't want any nacho cheese-flavoured paste on my rolled up Mexican taquinto. 
But I might have a Tic Tac.