Where is my 12-can pack of Pepsi?

Standing at the kitchen this Thursday morning, looking around to see if there was any bread and milk left in the refrigerator, I was disappointed with the rummage of food because it was negative. My body was dragging my soul and demanded that I needed some sugar or caffeine substances so as to infiltrate my bloodstream and lift up my spirit. I opened the refrigerator door again and searched for a can of Pepsi. “What? They are all gone?” I groaned. A home without Pepsi rarely happens in any ordinary American family. I live in America now; I should have restocked plenty of Pepsi whether it is regular, diet, caffeinated or non-caffeinated. If any guests stop by and discover that I can’t even serve a glass of Pepsi full of ice, I will be mocked that I fail to meet the minimum requirement to become an American.

I, immediately, took a quick shower and put on some facial lotion before my face began to crack by the dry frigid air. The supermarket which I usually visit is called “Giant Eagle”. Every year during this time of holiday seasons, someone from Salvation Army is always lingering outside at the entrances of many big stores, swinging a Christmas bell to signal shoppers that it is time for sharing. I fumbled in my pocket and wallet to see if I have any coins or small bills. “Darn, Cotton Boy, when was the last time you used cash? Mostly everyone pays by credit cards in America. I only have two $10 bills and I am not as rich as Donald Trump,” I murmured to myself and rushed away from the Salvation Army guy with an apologetic face.

I shopped for this and that, and 3 twelve-pack of Pepsi to assure that I didn’t have to make another trip at least a week. The cart was full. I was ready to check out at the self service cashier lines as these are always open and I can hasten the process of scanning items. The only disadvantage is normally that no one will do the packing. You have to do it yourself. This morning the store perhaps was busier than usual, an ostrich shape female store employee wearing a light yellow sweater helped me stuff the items in bags while I was scanning. By the time I was finished, all my merchandizes were in bags. I said, “Thank you very much!” She nodded and replied, “Have a good one.”

I unloaded the bags into the car trunk and realized there were only 2 packs of Pepsi. “Where is the third pack?” I examined everywhere and looked around the parking lot. Nothing! “I shouldn’t have let anyone touch my stuff. The ostrich must have misplaced my Pepsi,” I begrudged. I stomped back to the store and looked for her. She was assisting another customer. I waited my turn and asked her politely if I had left some Pepsi behind. “I don’t think so. I packed everything,” she coldly replied. I showed her the receipt to demand they should give me back the Pepsi. She scowled and moved her tweety beak, “You may have dropped your Pepsi on the way to the parking lot!” I resented and shouted at her, “Excuse me? Do you think I would miss hearing the dropping sound of a 12-can pack soda on the concrete ground?” She sprinted to the Lost and Found Department which was behind us. A much slimmer lady handed her my Pepsi and told her the Salvation Army guy found the soda and brought it in a minute ago. She was smug and arrogant. I uttered my apology and left with my Pepsi.

I approached the Salvation Army guy and showed my appreciation. I dropped my $10 bill into the donation box. Then, I drove home!

The 7 (Seven) Cents Nail Polish Girl

The sky was dark and damp. The rain had been drizzling all day yesterday as the mammoth cold air mass was pushing towards the Eastern part of America from the Rocky Mountain Range, forcing the idle warmer air to elevate to the higher sky and forming an enormous piece of charcoal blanket covering the entire space.

My work at the drugstore started at 4 PM. I, Cotton Boy, thought the harsh icy rainy weather would hinder many shoppers from going out to run their errands. When I arrived at the parking lot, I was surprised and screamed, “Damn, almost all the parking spaces are occupied. People should stay home and watch “Two and a Half Men”. I entered the store, clocked in, put my name tag on and confiscated my territory as a cashier once again. The sun flower seed size raindrops were still descending. Americans, in general, do not have the habit to carry umbrellas even it rains torrentially. People drive their own vehicles to reach anywhere at any time. The cash register machine is next to the entrance. I stood there and watched people running in and out of their cars with their tiny hands sheltering their big heads.

I believe after the clock hit 8 PM, business began slowing down bit by bit. I caught my breath and looked around to tidy up my region, such as filling up the cigarettes on the rack, returning the baskets in which they should be located. At the cosmetic area, a young girl around at age 12-14 was holding several bottles of nail polish. I realized she was there at least around 8-10 minutes and assumed she must be dazzled by all colors that she could select.

She approached me with a bottle of pinkish red nail polish and asked, “Do you mind telling me how much it is?” I verified and told her that the price was $1.99. She gaped in bewilderment, “How much is the total after tax?” (Here in America, everything is about tax, tax and tax. If you purchase goods besides food and non alcohol beverages, everything automatically attaches 7.75% sale tax in Cleveland, Ohio before you can check them out from stores.)

I replied the total was $2.14. She frowned and re-started counting her coins; some are quarters, but mainly nickels and pennies. She was much abashed and whispered, “I only have $2.07. What can I do?” She looked like she was falling into a black hole. I wanted to rescue her by giving her 7 cents, but I was not in a position. First, have you ever heard of a cashier paying his client’s merchandize? The answer is obvious “NO”. Second, if you can’t afford it, you don’t buy it. Third, many surveillance cameras were installed on the ceiling. If I pull out my wallet, I would be on the cameras. I really pitied her but said, “I am sorry!”

I judged she would place back the item, go home and return with sufficient funds. Instead, she stayed and looked at me with a pair of sparkling begging blue eyes. A shooting star flashed through my mind. I said, “Just give me few seconds.” She froze herself on the floor with her hands praying.

At that precise moment, a middle aged lady was ready to check out her merchandise and overheard the conversation between the purple dress girl and me. “How much does she owe? I will pay for her,” she stressed candidly. “7 cents if you can,” I informed her. The girl instantly was in high glee, “Thank you so much, both of you”. She grabbed the nail polish and ran out with her little two hands on top of her head. The rain was still dropping.

I praised the lady as a heroine. She said, “Don’t mention it. Everyone deserves a better Christmas.” She walked out and disappeared in the rain with her both hands on her head too.  

A "Hen" can tell how intelligent you are! (Part II)

***May I have your attention! Here are the final answers***

Imagine this is an interview question that your interviewer is about to ask you.  If your answer is one of the below. You should know how intelligent you are!

1. Gained $2.00 – You are rational; you math skill is only fine, but not good! You are great to be a regular customer and a follower. You won’t be hired.

2. Break even or earned $3.00 – You are quite subjective and always neglect details. Be patient and you need to think more. You won’t be hired.

3. Gained $38 or had 4 more hens – You have great imagination and are creative. You definitely can be an excellent politician or philosopher because they love to dream and they always lie without solid evidence. You won’t be hired.

4. Gained $1.00. You are good. You know the basic of how to make businesses work and you can be an entrepreneur. You may be hired.

5. Lost $2.00. Congratulations! You are a genius and you are hired. (Originally, you had the hen at $8.00; you could sell it at $11.00. If you had done it, you would have made $3.00. However, you didn’t. You only made $1.00 instead. As a result, you lost $2.00.)

Cotton Boy didn’t have the best answer. No wonder he is still working at a drugstore! May Santa come to rescue him!

A "Hen" can tell how intelligent you are! (Part I)

"Hey, Cotton Boy! Are you interested in testifying how smart you are? I have an IQ question for you,” my friend said with a big grin on his face. “Certainly, I maybe look like I am daydreaming all day; in fact, I am super sophisticated and intelligent. Go ahead, what is the damn question?” I declared.

Here you go!

You were at the market, purchased a “Hen” at $8. Then, you sold the “Hen” to someone in the market at $9. Later on, you wanted the “Hen” back at the cost of $10. At the end, you sold the “Hen” at $11.

How much did you make? You have ONE (1) minute to think!
Your answer will be a good indicator telling you who you are and what you should be ! I will reveal the answer with a very funny but truthful and logical explanation at 11:30PM (Eastern Time) tonight.

See ya all later!

"I got money; you guys have problems!"

"What are you talking about? I got money! You guys have problems," she slammed her palms on the cashier desk; a huge thud resonated in the air waking up the nearby customers. A dozen pairs of eyes instantaneously were gazing towards me and imploring to find out what was happening. “Sorry, mam. Your cards were declined,” I reinstated. She vehemently and angrily uttered some words to condemn me for not giving her the merchandizes. I reinforced my statement, “I am sorry!” She walked away and exited the store. A few minutes later when the crowd had dissipated, I pondered over the entire incident. “Why am I always the one apologizing? I didn’t do anything wrong. She initiated all the dramatic occurrences.” She had better not come back to the store. I will definitely confront and slap her sorry face before she sputters another cussing word from her witchy mouth.

It happened at 5:40 PM yesterday while I was being a cashier at the drugstore. A lady pushing a shopping cart with around 10 items questioned, “Please check these items’ prices.” I verified. She hesitated and said, “I thought they were on sale.” “Yes, the prices have been reduced. They are on sale.” I replied. She glared at me and said, “Alright, I will take all.”

I scanned the items one by one and it came up the total of $35.25. She searched her purse and took out a credit card and swiped it. The transaction failed. I politely claimed, “I am sorry. Can you swipe your card again? The transaction did not go through.” “What?” she exclaimed, but she tried again. The result was the same. Repeatedly, I apologized and asked her, “Do you have another card or other payment methods, such as cash or check?” She frowned and exhibited her two other credit cards to me. She wiped one-two-three-four more times. The screen only displayed the word, “DECLINED”. I repeated my statement, “I am sorry!” She shook her wrathful head and spat out, “What? I just paid the bills. Each card should have a thousand dollar. You are wrong” “I am sorry. If the transaction cannot be completed, I am not able to give you the merchandizes. I can hold the items for you until tonight.” She reiterated and yelled back several times, “I had money. You guys are so wrong!”

To stop the fiasco, I no longer made any comments and grabbed the goods into the basket and placed it behind me. I certainly had no more energy to listen to all these fabricated bullshit stories. Does she think I was born yesterday and kind enough to allow her to take anything without paying? I don't feel sorry for her, but I absolutely feel sorry to myself of saying sorry so many times!

Here in America. No free lunch! That’s what we call, “Captialism”.

Do you want some "string" to hang yourself?

Life is tough; Cotton Boy’s life is even tougher. You may call me a whiner or address me “What a loser! You are in America; everyone works their butts off. You can’t just stay at home, imagining yourself on top of the clouds and sucking your cotton candies. Suck your fingers instead as eventually you will empty your last dollar in your pocket. Be productive and be a man” These were the ruthless statements which my friends kept nagging or even yarning at me once in a while in the past.

“Enough is enough! Alright! I will show you all that I am not a couch potato or a single cell parasite”, I retaliated and despised each remark. Now, I have jobs; I even have three part-time jobs and a web blog to write. All of the sudden, life is such as a rush. A day of time lapses before I can take a deep breath and introspect what I have accomplished each day. I guess all the tasks I am given to complete are not memorable enough but are sufficient to feed my hungry piggy bank.

I worked yesterday at the drug and pharmacy store. I was so glad that I was not assigned working at the cashier desk, scanning items and greeting customers with a big innocent smile. I remember by the end of the previous shift, my lower jaw hurt as I curved my lips upwards and squinted my eyes too much.

“Cotton Boy, you will be replenishing the inventory and fill up the shelves today,” my supervisor claimed. I was euphoric at first that I didn’t have to deal with customers and my task was just restocking. “Nice! What a piece of cake!” I tittered. My thought was naïve; in fact, I received many more questions than standing at the price scanner. When customers finish their shopping, all they want is to get out of the store hurriedly. When they are roaming inside the store and can’t designate their desired items. They come to me. I pretend I don’t hear and see anything, and keep stocking the goods on the shelves until a man with a brushy mustache, wearing a torn blue jean and pointed cowboy boots asked, “Do you have strength?” “Strength?” I murmured and clarified, “Sir, do you want to find something to brace your hands or feet and increase the strength?” “No! It is not [strength]; I want [string]”, he spoke back. “What kinds of strings do you want? Strings for sewing or strings for tying?” I answered. (I really want to say “String for hanging yourself up?” Of course, I dared not speak it out.) “No! I want some strings for flying kites,” he responded

I was so smart and witty to deliver a quick reply without thinking much, “Sorry Sir, we don’t sell kites’ string now. We only have it during summer!” He thanked me and walked away.

Come on, people! Don’t be so lazy to construct a proper question! I don’t deliver unclear or ambiguous questions. Think before you ask. If he had elaborated clearly by saying, “Do you sell strings for flying kites?” All the misunderstandings wouldn’t have occurred and he may have gotten what he wants.  

What a big deal? It is just a "Lighter".

Cotton Boy loves money, loves dreaming and loves to be rich; he prefers just floating up in a clear blue sky and letting the wind blow him along with the snow white clouds restlessly. The mild breeze, the spectacular sunshine and the chirping sound from birds are the adorns and garnishes while Cotton Boy is laying on top of a vast piece of cuddly cotton clouds, lapping his cotton candy with his eye close harmoniously. In contrast, Cotton Boy hates working hard with tiny rewards and hates toiling all day for just a few dollars. 

Yet a dream is a pure dream, reality is always cruel and merciless. When you turn your piggy bank upside down, shake it crazily to trickle every single gold coin out of it. I get panic when the piggy is losing weight progressively. “I have to find a solution. Get a job, maybe two or even more whatever I can sustain,” I declared with my head held high.

After couple months of frenzied search, I obtained 3 part-time jobs. One of the jobs which I am conducting is being a cashier at a nationwide drugs and pharmacy chain store. It sells everything as if I was amidst a flea market, surrounded by hundreds of people looking for laurels. I greet customers robotically, scan the check out items and listen to all the bullshit matters from numerous insane people. Yesterday at around 7 pm, a brawny woman in her 40’s stood in front of me, demanding something with a deep coarse voice, “I need a Big lighter.” First, I thought what a weird request she had. Any sizes of lighters can ignite a cigarette, right? However, as the old proverb states “customers are always right”, I kept my mouth shut. I turned around, found and handed her the biggest lighter in the store. She was speechless first, then opened her hippopotamus mouth with a front tooth missing, “No, Big! Big! Big!” Her dark grimed second finger was pointing at the location where we displayed various kinds of lighters. I swiveled instantly and grabbed a bunch of different sizes of lighters and enabled her to choose. “No, no, no. Big! Big! Big!” she exclaimed. I was clueless and in a split second, I got it. She wanted to purchase a lighter produced by the manufacturer, called “BIC.” I scanned the item, collected the money and said, “Have a good night!”

As soon as she waddled out the door, I sighed. “Why don’t they make things a little bit easier to a foreigner by saying, “May I have a lighter which its brand name is “BIC”?” Then, all the misunderstandings can be resolved. Amen!