CALL ME SNAKE

There’s something about buying milk that opens you up to all kinds of abuse. I bought a gallon at 7-11 last night and a homeless guy hanging out near the counter decided that gave him a free pass to hassle me. “A whole gallon?” he said. “You must really need the milk.” As I was wearing a hat at the time, he asked, “You don’t have a bald head, do you?” I tried to shrug him off to no avail, as he persisted with the pestering: “At least partially?”

I don’t really know what kind of connection he was trying to make between milk and baldness. But in my experience nothing brings on more ridicule than buying a gallon of milk. Except for buying two gallons of milk.