Spellman Spouts: Club Cards

club cardMembership, club, or discount cards for your grocery store or drug store are nothing new. They've been around for awhile. What is new, at least to me, is how you are regarded as some sort of jerk or societal outcast if you don't have one. This happened to me yesterday again and I've just about had it.

To bring you up to speed, I'm living in Erdenheim, PA this Summer. I've been here about a month and I'm still trying to get my bearings. One thing I'm still trying to get a handle on is driving to the grocery store and getting more groceries than you can carry home. This is a foreign activity for me. After six years in New York I finally got used to idea that, when shopping at the grocery store (or anywhere for that matter) you can only purchase what you're willing to carry home. Now that I'm back in the suburbs I have to come to the terms with the fact that now I have the ability to fit an adult human corpse in my shopping cart if I so chose. Well, the way I was treated at the check out counter for not producing a Genuardi's Club Card at my local supermarket, Genuardi's, I might as well have had a corpse in my shopping cart.

Monday Hangover - 6.8.09

paddy_wagonwhat were you most looking forward to this weekend?

I was most looking forward to getting drunk and dancing my ass off with all the cute hipstertito and hapa boys at our neighborhood's new retro queer dance night on Friday.  But before I got properly drunk and lecherous, I got all chivalrous and decided to walk a really pretty girl home so she wouldn't get raped in a community vegetable garden.  Upon returning to the club after my gentlemanly gesture, I was not allowed in, as it was 12:45 a.m. and the dance party was due to end in fifteen minutes (nearby residents had already phoned in noise complaints, and a paddy wagon sat ominously in the parking lot -- no joke). Neither drunk nor danced-out, I glumly noted that what was supposed to be the first great dance night of the summer turned out to be a harsh reminder of how unbelievably fucking lame Boston is.  Am I really going to waste another year of my quickly-fading twenties in a city where the club nights end at 1:00 with police attempting to round me up and arrest me for using my outside voice?  No.  I tried to run past the bouncers, but they grabbed me, and into the paddy wagon I went  Ironically, the pretty girl’s would-be rapist was in there too.  To my delight, he raped me.

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