A few nights ago I stopped by the deli, as I often do, for two bottles of SmartWater on my way home from work. You stood ahead of me at the cash register put your items down on the counter even though the guy ahead of you hadn't finished paying.
These items consisted of a bottle of Poland Spring water, a sandwich, and three cans of Chef Boyardee.
The guy in front of you quickly grabbed his change and left, then you looked the cashier over as he ran up the items on the counter. "I've seen you stocking the shelves and sweeping," you said. "Now you're behind the register? What kind of sense does that make?"
The cashier, who perhaps didn't have the best grasp on the English language, didn't respond. The cashier took an extra second perhaps in ringing you up, and you were not having it.
"Just put the stuff in the bag; it's not that big a deal," you snapped.
Another cashier swooped in and began handling your order.
While this man rang you up, you looked at me and the two bottles in my arms. "Does that stuff work?" you asked, friendly and cordial, as though you hadn't just potentially created a well of insecurity in this poor man who was probably excited to start his first day at the cashier after years of sweeping and stocking from which he will never really recover.
"What?" I asked. "You mean SmartWater?"
"I don't know ... it tastes better."
You launched into a story about some show you'd seen where bottled water manufacturers filled water bottles of different brands with a garden hose.
"Well the pipes are rusty in my building, so," I began.
But as soon as the second cashier bagged your items, you were out the door, rushing toward the Pastapalooza you clearly had planned when you got home.
Since you left before I could tell you, I thought I'd leave this on the big old Internet in case you might ever see it:
You, sir, are an Asshole with a capital "A".