Uncle Bingo

An axe.

A big old bloody axe.

Bingo was feeling rambunctious as he stood in line at the grocery store, because, after all, it was his day off. Here he was on his day off and he was wasting his so-called life standing in line, and what made it worse was that he only had one item to purchase. He knew he should have gone to a convenience store, or one of those loser stores like Dollar General or Family Dollar, even though he didn’t know what the hell made the Dollar a Family Dollar, what, was it pregnant or something? I guess the fuck stopped there, Bingo thought to himself, which made him giggle. Giggling in public pissed him off, so he decided to drain some of the anger out of his soul by taking it out on someone standing around him. He decided to speak up about something he might have usually let pass without bothering him. “Hey, lady, where did you go to school?”

The old lady in front of him, probably only 80 years old but looking like 180, wearing a floral print tent over her enormous, gray body, topped with a ridiculously magenta and obviously fake wig, slowly twisted her turtle neck to pierce him with a stare that said, what are you going to do to me, I already wish I was dead, and said, “I beg your pardon?”

“I bet it’s been a long time since you begged for anything,” Uncle Bingo said. “And don’t change the subject by talking dirty, just answer the question.”

“Why?”

“No, the question wasn’t why, the question was where-did-you-go-to-school?”

“I was going to say why do you want to know where I went to school, I went to Hopey Valley High, if it is any of your business, and I assure you it is not,” said the old woman.

“Good. I wanted to be sure and not send my kids there because they didn’t teach you how to count! What’s your name, Karen?”

“It’s, my name is Karen, how did you know my name?”

“I didn’t, I just guessed, your name is actually Karen, this is too perfect. You know how to count, Karen? No, you don’t, and I can prove it because I’m looking in your buggy, and you’ve got 11 items. Did they teach you geography, no they did not, because if you look around, if you Google your position, you will see that you are standing in the express lane. Did they teach you to read, no they didn’t, and I can prove it because you see that sign? That sign says '10 items or less’.” How many items you got in that buggy, Karen? Eleven. Does the sign say eleven? Does the sign say 10 plus one to grow on? No. It says 10. It does not go up to eleven, it goes up to ten.”

The cashier sensed that Uncle Bingo had reached a stopping point and said, “Good afternoon, let me help you with that.” The cashier came out from behind the register and started loading Karen’s selections onto the checkout belt leading to the scanner. Karen seemed confused by this service, because usually Karen had to do that herself, and she said to the cashier, “Oh, I can get those, darling, thank you so much,” while not actually trying to help the cashier at all. She did, however, use the cashier’s efforts as an excuse to turn away from the confrontation with Uncle Bingo. He was not having it.

“Oh, so you know these people, is that it?” Bingo asked Karen, who did her best to ignore him. Bingo turned from her to the cashier who was now moving back to her side of the register so she could start ringing up Karen’s selections. “Miss, hey, cashier lady, what’s your name, nametag says Susan, okay, Susan, stop that, stop that. Hey! Stop that!” He yelled this last part and actually succeeded in making Karen and Susan look into his face. Bingo said, “Susan, this old bag, this ancient suitcase, this aggravating attaché, this Karen, has 11 items in the express lane, which, according to your own sign, right there, says is limited to 10 items or less. She’s cheating. Karen is a cheater. I demand you send her to another register. I did not make the rules, you made the rules, I am only demanding, as justice demands, that you obey your own rules. Otherwise, it’s like a cop that says murder is illegal, then turns around and shoots people dead, there’s something wrong with that picture, wouldn’t you agree?” He paused, waiting for a reply. “Susan, that was not a rhetorical question, do you think it is wrong for cops to murder people?”

“Well, yes,” said Susan, with an expression on her well-made up face, with heavy eye-liner, spider-like mascara, scarlet lips and framed by feathered blonde hair, that bespoke confusion.

“Then if murder is wrong, I demand you send Karen to another register.”

“But sir,” argued Susan, “she only has one item over the limit, after all. We try and practice a little leeway with our senior customers.”

“I demand you refuse her, she’s cheating, she’s a cheater!” Bingo jumped up and down like a middle-aged toddler having a conniption fit.

“Really, I swear!” said senior customer Karen. Her skin looked like vanilla leather, and seemed to be growing paler on one side of her face while simultaneously growing even redder on the other side, as if she was terrified and angry at the same time, which was probably a pretty good guess, surmised Uncle Bingo. Truth be told, Karen was angry and afraid of being relegated to a regular checkout lane. Joining the unwashed masses was not an appealing option for Karen.

Meanwhile, as Karen dreaded being tossed into the teeming masses, Bingo was entertaining a picture in his own head: a big old, double-bladed bloody axe. The image of the battle axe caused a terse grin to emerge onto his face as he told Susan, “Call the manager over here. Let’s see what old Chuck has to say about this.”

“Do you know Mr. Gideon?” asked Susan, playing the role of cashier surprised that this grumpy guy would actually know and have a relationship with her boss. Chuck, don’t-call-me-Mr.-Gideon, Gideon was a pretty awesome dude, mid-30s, mid-life crisis, stoned half the time but it was medicinal, really, was just a great guy to work for, thought Susan.

“No,” said Uncle Bingo. “I just keep guessing what you people’s names are and keep getting it right. Chuck! Get over here, man, enforce your rules! Society is breaking down over here at minimum wage an hour!”

Susan relented regretfully and said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dilbert, but could you use another lane today?”

“Dilbert?” yelled Bingo. “Karen, your last name is Dilbert? Oh my god, you’re killing me, you’re making me take the lord’s name in vain which I never do because I don’t want him to notice me, but really, Dilbert? You’re killing me!” In his mind’s eye, though, he was the one doing the killing, swinging the battle axe into Karen’s head, not the other way around.

“But the lines are so long,” whined Karen Dilbert.

“So? Move it, suitcase. Attaché, amigo!” Bingo pushed Mrs. Karen Dilbert aside and placed his one item that he intended to purchase, a bottle of Drano Max Gel Clog Remover, before Susan, the cashier. Susan first had to come back to Karen’s side of the cashier station and put all of Karen’s items back in her little buggy, and Susan took her time with that chore. It took a couple of minutes because Karen was not about to help her as she was too busy pouting. Then Karen slowly trudged back around Bingo and started slowly moving towards one of the other register lanes, all packed with at least five customers each, each customer with a buggy overflowing with goods. Karen kept looking back over her shoulder as if it was a cruel joke and that at any minute Susan would call her back to her one true register.

Susan did not. Instead, she went back to her side of the register and dutifully rang up Bingo’s purchase, took his money, and gave him his change, despite an urge to turn him away. “Would you like paper or plastic?” Susan asked by rote.

“I want a plastic bag, it’s bad for the environment, and you don’t have to CHOP down a tree to make it,” said Bingo. The axe had gotten bigger in his mind’s eye and WHOA DADDY it was embedded firmly in Susan’s face. Bingo tingled with the urge to start chopping down people. How did that happen?

Bingo became suddenly quiet. The desire was growing too strong. It was his day off, he had to keep that in mind. Bingo paid for his Drano, hurried outside and settled frenetically into his car without saying another word to anyone. He drove back to Marcia’s apartment in complete silence. The sun was slowly descending on the western horizon, blinding everyone trying to drive in that direction. Bingo wasn’t sure if his car insurance covered sudden horizon blindness due to the fucking sun going fucking crazy with its fucking blinding light right in his eyes, but thought probably not. Bingo would have thanked God that the day was almost over, as midnight crept just a little bit nearer, but he didn’t. He had his reasons. God, like the rest of the universe, could go fuck themselves.