The other day, I went to the store to get a 2010 daily planner (yes, I still use a paper daily planner and I am aware that it is not still 1982) and a small calendar for the fridge. For some reason, I picked out both of these items without looking at the price. I figured the big calendar to be about $15 and the small one to be about $5. Based on what, you ask? My many years of practice watching the Price is Right, of course. Der.
The nice saleslady rung up my items, and this is how it went.
Her: That will be $42, please.
Me: DID YOU JUST SAY FORTEE TOO DOLLARZ?
Her: (stepping back from the screaming customer) Yes. Um, each of these is about $20 each.
Me: THEY WERE? WOW, THAT IS A LOT FOR A COUPLA CALENDARS.
Nordic Boy stood there, shocked. And then I collected myself and bought the damn calendars anyway and we ducked our heads and walked out. Because really, people. Who does that? Maybe that was too much for some calendars, yes, but did I need to bring the drama like that? And yell so that the whole store could hear me? Was I raised in a barn?
Later that day we stopped at Office Depot. And you know what happened? This.
Cashier: That comes to 21 dollars.
Me: (in a complete panic) TWO TWENTY ONE? IT COSTS TWO TWENTY ONE?
Cashier: No. I said it comes to twenty one. It costs 21 dollars.
Me: Oh. Sorry. Ha ha.
Cashier: (not laughing).
The moral of this story for me. Me = classy.
Moral of this story for you. Don’t try and tell me how much things cost. It causes a Pavlovian effect whereby I will most assuredly scream at you.