As the new snack bar czar at work, I take our ones and bucket o' coins to the bank for larger bills. My colleague confessed she has obsessive/compulsive disorder (OCD) and asked to be given the pleasure of counting the money, segregating it into clipped packs of ten singles each and envelopes for pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. With this much evidence, did she really need to make a confession?
So I just moved to town and I can already deduce that this chain called Albertson's is on its last leg as a purveyor of groceries: moldy corn (how can the produce manager miss that?), rotten chicken ($3/lb. special!) that I bought and attempted to eat (when I demanded a refund, the original receipt was illegible, so I presented the rotten chicken in a bag as proof of purchase), and this bizarre offering of corn and potato kababs.