Why does it happen? Almost always to me?

When I’m in a hurry and they step up front.

As I stand there in shock and I let out a grunt,

they search for a checkbook in the great big purse hunt.

All I have is milk and bread I want to cry out,

while they’re asking the checker for a pen – I just pout.

A scene at the grocer, I’m sure you’ve witnessed it too.

But how ’bout at Starbucks when you want a quick brew?

The guy in the front of me; he needs it just right.

With “soy milk, no whip, and please make the cream light.”

The barista writes slowly on the little white cup.

Are they writing the order: no, I think not.

In slow motion it appears they’re beginning to jot:

“Too bad for you pal – your schedule is shot.”

To depart the line at this point would be shameful.

My Coffee! A day without it is pure self-betrayal.

What could be worse, you may ask?

How about a station where you’re buying your gas.

The credit card reader is down at the pump,

so you’re forced to go in with a heart full of grump.

And what is there waiting as you just need to pay?

Some guy who is playing his state’s lottery.

You’ve seen it, I know it, he utters his plan:

“Eight, uh, twenty-two, sixteen, eighty-eight and, uh, seven.”

C’mon, you scream inside, hurry up with this waste!

I’ve got to get home and I must move with haste.

If I’m late for this thing with my family I’m finished.

And I promise you dude, that you’re not gonna win it.

So this poem is nothing but a simple request:

Lose your checkbook, drink plain coffee, keep the cash in a chest.

Those things you keep doing just give me more stress!