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Member since: 2003 before July 6th
Number of posts: 41,856

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Finished work 90 minutes ago and I'm still steaming.

As you may or may not know, I work as a cashier at a grocery emporium in northern NJ.

We've instituted safety precautions: latex gloves, plexi-glass partitions b/n us and the customers, choice of wearing masks, tape on the floor to show six feet length, hand sanitizer, etc.

This was my day:

The lanes for check-out are supposed to be every other one (b/c otherwise, you'd be less than 12 inches away from customers in the next lane). But no, all day I was put at check-outs next to another check-out and those customers didn't wear masks. Then MY customers were as dense as bricks: they don't get what six feet apart means. They stood apart before getting to the belt and then proceeded to stand at a maximum three feet from me as I'm bagging their 10+ sacks of groceries.

Then the apex of the evening: We're supposed to close the store by 8:00 by order of the governor and the county executive. Fine by me. Except at 8:05, I received word that there was one customer left. Well, we don't throw out customers whose shopping cart is overflowing with groceries that may ring up to $400+. Yup, that was my last customer. 25 minutes and 12 bags later, I was too tired to be livid. All I could do was ruminate "You had ALL FRIGGIN' DAY TO SHELTER IN PLACE. ALL DAY! And you decide to re-stock your proverbial bomb shelter at 7:45!"

OK, rant over.

Trump wanting the country to return to "normal" in the light of this pandemic

reminds me of our father.

It was Thanksgiving evening ten years ago. My sister and her husband are childless and had four dogs to love.

The newest puppy somehow escaped the house and tried to follow my sister when she went to walk our father's dog right before the meal. It was dark and raining. The poor dog was run over by a car. My sister's crie de coeur was unearthly.

She and my BIL cradled the little corpse in the hallway. I was crying with them.

Not our father. His idea was predominantly to ignore the obvious tragedy and the profound grief of his daughter. His idea of "comforting" was to re-direct their attention. He pointed out that my sister had three other dogs. That's right. You have too many dogs and that was a spare that was killed. He continually tried to get us to return to start the Thanksgiving feast he had prepared. Because nothing whets your appetite than putting aside a dead baby dog and digging into turkey and stuffing.

My sister, BIL, and I decided there would be no celebration, no holiday. I offered and they accepted a cardboard box I had in my trunk and we all went home in shock.

Now, granted, our father was 86 at this time. It wasn't dementia or senility. This is who he was. A narcissist. He was unmoved by what happened and tried to move us to gaslight the event so that his work in the kitchen would not go to waste.

My point: like my father, Trump has his own agenda and what happens to us is irrelevant. Easter and we're open for business again. Jesus makes everything better again.
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