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Little Old Lady Versus The Little F***ers

, , , , , | Right | CREDIT: Brit-Git | January 3, 2022

I recently got a job in retail at a convenience store/mini supermarket in rural New England. It’s a part-time gig just to help cover bills. It’s also my first retail job; I’m forty-nine and worked in newspapers for twenty-five years before retiring.

Among the few highlights of the job is one little old lady who comes in every day for the local paper. She’s in her seventies, all of about four-foot-one-inch tall, and a total sweetheart; she’s unfailingly polite, cheerful, and always smiling. If it’s quiet, she’ll stop for a quick chat. If it’s busy, she’ll wait patiently in line without complaint. She’s a gem.

One day, she comes up to me as I’m stocking shelves.

Customer: “Do you sell ant cups?”

I have no idea what she means, and when she starts explaining, I realise she’s asking about ant traps.

Me: “Yes, we sell them! Follow me.”

She immediately puts her arm through mine, and off we go, like some old-timey couple out for a stroll through the New England fall.

We get to the aisle, and she finds what she thinks is the right thing.

Me: “I might have to get some traps, too, as we have big carpenter ants at our house.”

Customer: “No, these are little f***ers. I usually just squish ’em, but there’s too many now.”

I’m left walking her back to the checkout, her arm through mine again, trying to stifle my laughter at this sweet little old lady just throwing out the F-bomb.

The next day, she comes in for her paper. I’m on checkout, and when she’s paid, I lean over a bit.

Me: “So, did you get them?”

She looks me dead in the eye.

Customer: “The little f***ers? They’re deader’n s***.”

Cue me retreating to the break room, closing the door, and just laughing for a solid two minutes.

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