I was in the Dollar Store with Noah, attempting to exit. Carts, handbaskets, vending machines and merchandise made a narrow sort of alley to the door. I was moving into the alley when a rather large woman somewhere in her 40s made her entrance. How do I put this — she looked like she should be shopping in the Dollar Store.

Now, the little alley space to the door was just about large enough for two normal sized people…or her. She looked at me, holding the baby, with a really distasteful glare. You could see the contempt in spite of the super-bling gold-toned plastic sunglasses with blue lenses and plastic gold neck chain.

It was almost lunchtime and she might be hungry, so I was patient. As she swept angrily past I got a whiff of bubblegum and something like Edam cheese. Like a piece Hubba-Bubba floating in an aged-just-beyond-its-prime Saint Emillion.

In her wake was the requisite 90 pound boyfriend/third husband/baby daddy with a weak chin and a sort of starter mullet. He was wearing a t-shirt with JESUSAVES in small block letters above a huge American flag. As he also pushed past me (though he was clearly far less angry – he had the air of a puppy in tow, and kind of smelled like one too), I thought about the shirt.

Jesus saves America? Jesus saves flags (particularly of the American variety)?

Clearly, though, when you wear the shirt, Jesus saves you from the burden of courtesy. Jesus saves you from saying “excuse me,” or allowing the guy with the baby and right of way to get out of the store. Apparently, Jesus saves you from giving a shit about your fellow man. After all, that’s exactly what the man Jesus talked about so much that some guys got pissed off and killed him. Fuck the other guy, it’s every man for himself. Or, rather, it’s every skinny man for his chunky lady friend. It’s in the bible, look it up.

Whatever. I gotta get myself one of those shirts.