Boy, you really have to watch what you say in this town, as I unfortunately learned yesterday at the supermarket.
I'd stopped to pick up a few things and was at checkout. My checker was Gary, a mild mannered, middle aged man who reminded me of Ned Flanders from "The Simpsons". We were exchanging harmless small talk as he scanned my groceries, when I said it.
"And I'd like a pack of Marlboro Lights, please."
See, the government recently cracked down on labeling cigarettes as "light". Because they really aren't. In fact they're probably more toxic than "regular" cigarettes because of all the chemicals they add to bring down the tar and nicotine the microscopic amount that classifies them as "light". Which isn't even a scientific determination, but rather a strictly marketing label. I'm a smoker; I know these things. Labeling a cigarette as "light" makes about as much sense as labeling a Big Mac as "light". So they aren't allowed to be called "light" anymore.
Gary didn't like this. He turned to his dull witted boxboy and said, loudly, "Get the man a pack of Marlboro Lights, oh wait, you can't say that anymore, they're Marlboro "GOLDS", get the man a pack of Marlboro GOLDS..."
The boxboy loped off to the counter at the front of the store where the cigarettes are kept under lock and key. Gary turned to me, and he was off...
"That's the government for you, meddling in everyones' life, tellin' you what you can and can't do, tellin' you what you can or can't say..."
Now I was uncomfortable. I glanced around at my fellow shoppers to see if they were as mortified as I was, but they weren't. Most looked nonplussed, but several were silently nodding their heads in agreement. Gary was preaching to the choir and he was on a roll. And his voice was rising.
"WHAT'S NEXT? THEY GONNA TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN'T EAT? YOU TELLING ME I CAN'T EVEN SAY THE WORD 'LIGHT' ANYMORE? THEY GONNA TELL ME WHO I CAN HANG AROUND AND WHO I CAN'T? THEY GONNA TAKE AWAY OUR GUNS..."
Of course, guns. It really always comes down to guns, doesn't it?
Where the fuck were my cigarettes? I shot a panicked look to the boxboy, who was slow in more ways then one. He couldn't find the key, and when he did he couldn't figure out how to open the cigarette cabinet. It was taking an eternity.
"WHAT HAPPENED TO FREEDOM? AND LIBERTY? THIS IS SOCIALISM, TELLIN' FOLKS HOW TO LIVE THEIR LIVES. IT'S NOT AMERICA ANYMORE..."
Finally Jethro reappeared with the smokes and I was able to quickly wrap up the transaction and get the hell out of the store. It was a little unnerving, to say the least.
I suppose, looking on the bright side, it just gives me one more reason to quit smoking.
Or not.
I'll just get them at the corner gas station from now on.
Because to quit smoking now, feeling bullied, would mean the terrorists have won.
And that's just Un-American.
