Old people are the worst discount shoppers. They'll haggle and holler over a nickel. God forbid the canned peaches ring up 59 cents apiece instead of 2 for a dollar, as advertised. Lady, who gives a shit? You've got, like, 4 days left on this planet. Do you really want to waste one of them arguing over 18 cents? That won't even buy you an adult diaper.
Honest to Christ, my contempt for old people had its genesis in Osco Drug stores. Sometimes I'd spot a perplexed old person examining a product, searching for a price tag, perhaps, or a label promising the product would soften the stool. A battery of questions awaited whatever poor fool approached the fossilized discount shopper. So, I'd steer my head forward, focus my stare like a laser beam, preventing the possibility of eye contact, and dart to the next aisle, where I could make my way to the warehouse without engaging the old fuck. I even had a name for my maneuver: The Old Fuck Shuffle.
Some days I would walk around the store so much that my crotch chafed. Some of you may know what I'm talking about. Perhaps you've experienced this after a long hike, a marathon bike ride, or whatever. I figured I was the only one, so I kept it to myself. One day, the chafing was so bad, I described this ailment to my boss, Ray. Do you know what he said to me? "Oh, you've got a case of the Osco Rash." Not only was I one of several guys suffering from a chafed crotch, but it happened so often, they gave it a name!
I had a motto at Osco. It's similar to that one from the Black Panthers: No Justice, No Peace. At Osco, my motto was, Minimum Wage? Minimum Work!