Yours truly was third in line at a local 7-Eleven a few days back, getting caffeinated and sugarized for the long day ahead, when the guy who was at the front of line was having some trouble with his credit and/or debit card, putting him in a bad mood.
Then the clerk told him that if he wanted a bag, that would be 5 cents more due to the tax imposed by Northern Virginia localities.
Let’s just say the patron did not respond well, although none of his anger was directed at the clerk (or vented in the direction of those of us in line). He was just PO’d at another gub’mint reach into his picket.
(I am painting with broad brush here, but based on demographics, he did not seem like a Trump voter.)
On the bag-tax front, I have a little ritual those times I am checking myself out at Giant.
It asks how many bags I need at 5 cents apiece. I hit “zero” (since I bring my own, being the lover of Mother Gaia that I am) and, at least when in Fairfax County, mutter a four-word epithet that ends “…Jeff McKay.” Invariably makes me feel better.
JOIN THE PARTY! Monday morning at the Shirlington estate (currently undergoing rehab), I have the painting guy coming in to start his work, plus the toilet-installation guy, plus an electrician checking on outlets.
This could be fun to watch as they all do their thing. I should sell tickets!
- Scott McCaffrey