Training

Almost every time I go to Shop'n'Save, I take either a shoulder bag (for small purchases) or a big grocery bag box (for large ones). The cashiers there, as with most grocery stores nowadays, bag your purchases as they're rung up. I prefer that they not do this, since I carry the groceries home in bag or box. By now, most of the cashiers know this, and simply place my purchases on top of the bag carrel so that I can gather them up myself.

Today, though, the aisle I chose was manned by a rookie - a young man with that gangly just-out-of-school look - and I prepared to inform him of my preferences. Business was slow, and the cashier at the next aisle was lurking near his shoulder, her own aisle being empty. As he scanned the first of my items, I heard her murmur something to him. All I caught of it was "He...", but, unprompted by me, the young man placed the item on the carrel, and likewise with the remaining groceries. He announced the price, I handed him a twenty, and he gave me my change. Another murmur: "He'll want his receipt."

When he handed me the receipt, I thanked him. Then I looked over his shoulder and added, "And thank you, also." She grinned and nodded, and I took my leave.

Tuesday Night Massacre

So, the Orange One has fired FBI director Comey. On the one hand, I shed no tears; Comey's actions just before the election were an egregious breach of protocol, and probably were a contributing factor to the debacle of Election Day. On the other hand, I cannot help but be reminded of the events of October 1973. The sole difference I can see is that Jeff Sessions isn't fit to shine Elliot Richardson's shoes, or William Ruckelshaus's either. (Robert Bork's, ehh, maybe.)

I was raised a Republican. The Saturday Night Massacre was the event that began my journey away from that party.

It's time for an independent prosecutor.