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Bitch Stole My Toothpaste!

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Bitch Stole My Toothpaste!
I knew she was up to no good. Rich-looking woman, about 50, designer purse (huge, football-shaped, and annoyingly trendy with little pictures on it), long curly hair, face with a lotta mileage. Kilom├ętrage?

She was in front of me at the cashier at the rue de Rennes Monoprix (best described as the Target of Paris, but with a gourmet food and wine store). But, she wasn't paying, she was arguing with the cashier. The manager comes over. Ugh. Too late to move to another line.

The woman's credit card was declined, and she got huffy with the manager as if Monoprix was to blame. He wouldn't budge on whatever she wanted him to budge on (smart guy). She scowled and whipped out a 100 eu note, which she handed the cashier. I sensed that she was a scammer, and muttered something of that nature to myself in English.

Okay, my turn. Except the woman was still standing where the person being rung up typically stands, and she wasnt moving...she was fussing in her purse or something.

She finally inched her entitled ass down toward the end, where you bag your stuff that's come down the metal incline from the cashier. A difference between France and the U.S. -- you usually bag your own groceries in France. The French are fast at this. I am...always improving.

Anyway, the woman was taking forever and then some...and my stuff was being rung by the cashier...and I just knew the woman would pull something. And sure enough, I'd paid for four tubes of my favorite toothpaste, Vademecum avec blancheur et plantes, and I checked, and the bitch had walked off with one of them.

The manager was steps away, so he went and got me another, but it was the wrong one, blah blah blah, and he had to go back, and that lucky woman, she got away without me coming after her and photographing her for my blog...and sending it out to French bloggers to get it out for her fancy friends to see. Headline with the photo: The Bitch Stole My Toothpaste.

And sure, it could've been an accident. But, I'd bet you, not just $100, but 100 euros it wasn't. And people who know me well know this: I never bet unless I'm going to win.

As I said to the cashier (in French, except for the word itself), "We have a word for people like that woman in the United States: 'shifty.'"

At least this woman asks for it.


And at least this one leaves you a little note to let you know what you're being sucked for.


On a side note, maybe it's just me, but, like those guys who paint their skin silver and stand still for tourist coinage in probably every major city in the world, if I picture a meter maid in any major city in the western world, it's this woman (a better shot of her here).