I got carded at WalMart yesterday. I know what you’re thinking. She looks so youthful that she was stopped at the check-out counter before she was allowed to buy that bottle of Chardonnay.
Nope. Apparently to the check out girl at WalMart, I don’t look like the sophisticated kind of young person who buys fine wine. I look like a middle-aged woman so downtrodden by life that I sniff glue for fun.
Yeah, GLUE! Our recliner has a small tear on the back. I’m not the kind of person who sews (or irons or polishes silver or waxes furniture, but that’s a subject for a different blog). So fabric glue seemed like just the thing I needed to fix my problem.
Little did I know that by trying to buy a small vial of glue, the teenaged check-out girl would assume I had a glue-sniffing problem. Apparently it’s now the rule at WalMart that all glue purchases must be approved to save down-trodden people like myself from our destructive behaviors. I can buy knives, razors and enough gasoline to become a martyr, but glue’s too dangerous for me to handle.
Quite honestly I can’t understand the compulsion that would drive someone to sniff glue. Personally I thought the odor from the fabric glue was pretty noxious. (And no, I wasn’t sniffing it for fun. I swear.). But if anyone’s stupid enough to inhale the stuff for kicks and giggles, why should the checker at WalMart have to be responsible?
What’s next? “Ma’am, could you tell me your use for those toothpicks in your cart?”
“Yeah, I intend to check the doneness of some cakes I’ll be baking while I sniff that glue you sold me last week.”
“Well, okay. Just make sure you don’t stick those pointy toothpicks anywhere near your eyes.”