Express?

So tonight, I finish up with work and as usual, I'm not in the mood for cooking. I've got a football game later, so I figure eating something of higher quality might be the best way to go, so I head over to Balducci's to pick up one of their meal combos. I roll in there and make my selection (seared tuna with sesame crust...quite good, I've had it before) and two side items, head over to grab myself a Dr. Brown's Cream Soda (haven't had that in a long time) and saunter on up to the register. Yes, I saunter...it's Balducci's god damn it.

Anyway, most of the aisles are pretty crowded, but then I see a sign on the last register: Express. Hell, yeah. I've only got two things...this makes sense. So I stand in the line, not really paying attention, but then I notice things are moving a little slow. And that's when I realize...the checker is retarded. Yes, legitimately suffering from Down's Syndrome. Not me joking and saying they're "retarded," full on clinically diagnosed with a mild case of Down's Syndrome.

So, let's recap. Express Lane. Down's Syndrome checker. Uh...does this make sense to you? Express...I don't think so. This has got to be some sick joke played by the manager. Like calling a three-legged dog Speedy or your fat friend Tiny. There is gonna be nothing express about this exchange. And 15 minutes and two people in front of me later (yeah, I couldn't give up on my line at this point) I finally got out of there and got home to enjoy my tuna steak. Ha ha, very funny Mr. Balducci's manager. See you in hell.