The Ham Police

Holy Jabeezus Motherfucker! I just watched two grown men have complete and total breakdowns in a grocery store. No, they were not upset over the sub-prime mortgage crisis, nor were they upset that Heath Ledger was dead or that insurgents and/or sherpas were surely planning attacks on Baltimore any day now…they were actually calling up various media outlets over ham. Yes…ham.

Because I generally live in my own little world and don’t think of anything as practical as say…actually bringing something for lunch with me into the office so I wouldn’t have to go out and forage for food in the rain and freezing cold, I ran over to the grocery store about 5 blocks from my office to grab something to eat. In a normal persons existence this would take 5 minutes and be completely uneventful. I, however, get delayed by the Ham Police.

I grabbed a grilled chicken sandwich and a diet coke and get in the “Express” line, which was probably my first mistake because at this particular grocery store, the “Express” line always moves approximately 92.658 times slower than the “regular” checkout line. Seeing as how I apparently live in a constant state of delusion I guessed that this wasn’t going to take all that long and I’d be on my way back to the office in no time, since there were only two people in line in front of me.

Why do I bother evaluating situations at all? They NEVER turn out how I (reasonably) expect them to.

I’m not one to judge people based on what is in their grocery carts (okay…I totally am) but I found it very strange that the two men in front of me were purchasing what appeared to be about 27 whole pigs worth of ham. We’re talking about those giant hams with the bone in them that you see at Easter or Arbor Day or whatever holiday demands that somebody’s grandmother bake a ham.

I tried to imagine why anyone would need that much ham, and the only thing I can figure out is that these two gentlemen were perhaps planning on converting to Islam and wanted one last bacon binge before it was officially forbidden. Kind of like stuffing yourself before a fast only with religious ramifications and lots and lots of ham.

Whatever the reason, it seemed that not only could these two not get enough of the hammy goodness, they wanted it at a very specific price and god help the hapless checkout clerk who dare to defy them, because when Kenny the Checkout Boy (I have no idea if this is his name or not, but that’s what I’m going to call him) told them that their total was $186.32…these two LOST THEIR SHIT.

There was much screaming about per-pound pricing and frenzied calculating on cellphone calculators and very loud demands for the grocery store manager to rectify the situation, all while a terrified Kenny the Checkout Boy huddled in a corner, frantically calling for backup while the Ham Police just kept on with their rampage.

It would take entirely too long to recount the entire conversation, so I’m just going to tell you a few of the gems that the Ham Police came up with.

* “You can’t just charge whatever you want for ham. There’s a system!” – um…I thought the whole point of a free market society was that yeah…you can pretty much charge whatever you want. I was also unaware that there was a special system for pricing ham.

* “I’m going to call the BBC and report you” – seeing as how neither member of the Ham Police were British, I can only guess that they were going to call the BBB (Better Business Bureau) and not the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation).

“Son, I fought for this country and now I want to buy this ham.” – Holy Shit….this is too fantastic for words. I’m not sure what the first part of this sentence has to do with the second part of this sentence, but this is pretty much where I lost my shit and starting laughing like an idiot, much to the displeasure of the Ham Police.

*”Wait until I tell them at church about this. You will loose all of your customers then” – HUH? Does everyone at their church shop at this particular grocery store or are they planning on the demise of the entire chain of grocery stores?

Someone please explain to me why I can’t even run out to get a damn sandwich without the wackjobs coming out of the woodwork?