Friday May 6, 2005
	She had her picture on her Visa card.
	She's standing at the checkout at the pet store and I'm standing behind her and she is wanting to pay using her Visa card and her picture is on her Visa card and she is smiling in the photo. I say: "That's a nice picture." "Thank you," she says.          It ain't a nice picture.  She looks years younger and that smile. It's like the smile you'd see on actress Julia Roberts while she's getting boned from the rear while (at the same time) she's glancing down at her latest paycheck. "I'm gonna get my picture on my Visa, too," I say, then smiling. No I ain't and though I'm smiling and pretending to fit in I'm thinking: Typical f-ckin' American.  Got her credit card with the $25,000 credit line and it was the happiest day in her stinkin' life.  Just look at her smiling in that photo (imprinted onto her card).  She can buy shit now and as long as that card works each item she purchases equals another stinkin' smile.  Of course she was smiling.  She was thinking about CD's, cosmetics, perfume, hair dye, movies, booze, K-Y lube, D-batteries and when the card stops working the smiles stop and the Prozac starts.  For just a second I'm thinking how I'd like to stuff a handful of complimentary dog snacks (they look like bones and they're in a plastic bowl and given to customers for free) into her mouth.  When I look up toward the ceiling I count one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight surveillance cameras. I won't be stuffing any bones in anyone's mouth today.   "Nice talking with you," she says, then smiling. "Real nice talking with you," I say. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT