The Indiginant

Bunny has a big axe to grind, and it's one that's been lying around, rusting for years.

It all started when I was 14 years old and was on a school trip to Washington DC. My class was given a couple of hours to shop in the Pentagon Mall. My fashion sense at the time was the same then as it is now - I love shirts with cartoon characters on them. I went to the Disney Store to see what kind of shirts they had in stock. Having a limited budget and surrounded by $30-something shirts, I had a hard time deciding which shirts I should buy for myself. But instead of asking if I needed any assistance, the employees monitored my every movement as if I were out to steal something.

Granted, there's a higher propensity of thieves who are teenagers. I understand that and I realize that these employees were doing their job.

But a generation later and I'm still a target.

I look very young for my age, and I like to wear comfortable clothes whenever I'm off work. When I'm off, I head out to stores like Walmart and Costco with my mom. In my area, all stores make it mandatory that you have your receipt in your hand on the way out.

My mom can walk out with bags of clothes, videos, DVDs or any other merchandise and no one bothers to check her receipt. She doesn't even need to take her receipt out - they wave her through. I come up with a cart full of empty see-through containers and they not only take the receipt from my hand, but proceed to go through the receipt with me, line by line, asking me where the item is and what I intend to do with it.

I've tried to be patient with these workers. I know that this financial depression causes even the best people to take desperate measures. I had hoped that, maybe after seeing me for a couple of months on a weekly basis, that the same exit people would recognize me, glance at my receipt, and let me pass without a production.

Today marked two months of having my receipt checked by Mr. Costco. While the carts in front of me all make it through with expedited courtesy, mine, however, receives a systematic inspection. But today, though, was a special day for Mr. Costco; he decided to fondle every item in my cart.

You know, just in case I decide to hide an Ipod inside the sealed bananas pack.

I asked the guy, flat out, why he decided to take inventory on my cart when the last five customers were allowed out with just a routine nod. He told me he was just trying to do his job.

....
(The little clock preventing bunny's alter-ego from escaping has just ticked down to 0.)

Not satisfied with this lame answer, I asked Mr. Costco that, if I really wanted to steal something, would I risk a criminal history over six apples and a bunch of bananas? He hesitated, and pauses rummaging through my bag. I told him that I was tired of businesses picking on young looking people and assuming that we're out to steal.

Mr. Costco, now with less bravado, tells me he's just doing his job. He puts down the cucumbers in my bag and hands me the receipt, begrudgingly.

With all the discourtesy I could muster, I told him that what he was doing was profiling, and if I can't do it as a law enforcement officer, then he sure as hell can't do it at his job.

Huff...huff...and with that, I stormed out.