The rugged man squinted at his foe as the setting sun cast a glow on him that made his silhouette appear imposing and masculine. His rival was not intimidated by his stone cold stare, or even his well-groomed mustache of the kind that would even make Tom Selleck bow with respect. It was the Mexicanist of standoffs the supermarket had seen in days.
Malone was a lone hero. He only ever spoke in one-liners and bad puns with a manly, raspy voice. He always wore a flannel shirt with his designer jeans and usually had aviator sunglasses obstructing his eyes. He was pretty awesome.
"Please remove your items from the bag and begin scanning," the self-checkout machine told the man in the mustache.
Malone had unwittingly put all of his booze in the bagging section in his flustered state. "Fine, just hold on a second bud," he hollered at the machine, and began shifting the bottles when the helpful machine chimed in again.
"Please remove your items from the bag."
"I'm trying!"
By the time he clumsily got his items off of the bagging area and back into his cart, the machine was getting impatient with him. "Please scan your first item."
Malone scowled as he ran his first bottle back and forth in front of the scanner trying his darnedest to get it to scan.
"I said scan your first item!"
"Calm down!" Malone shouted at the machine, loud enough to turn a few heads.
After another few passes he finally got the "beep" sound he was after.
"Please put your booze in the bag," the machine barked.
This is precisely what Malone attempted to do, but the bags were not opening properly. It was as if the plastic bag company had glued the tops of the bags shut as some sort of sick joke.
"Please put your booze in the bag NOW," the machine impatiently commanded the hero.
"I'm trying to!"
"Please wait for an attendant's assistance."
"I don't need assistance!"
In his aggravation, Malone yanked half a dozen bags off of the rack which all stuck together.
"You have to pay for those bags you know," the machine said with a cheeky tone.
"That's it you sonofabutthead, let's dance!"
Malone slammed down his alcohol and began punching the self-checkout machine in the face. "You like that buddy?" he asked, then decked it a couple more times.
Within a few minutes the store manager came over and saw Malone holding the machine in a sort-of headlock, pummelling it mercilessly. By this point a crowd had formed, all of whom were cheering for Malone.
"How do you like that you little cock-chopper?"
"Please scan your next item."
"What the heck's going on here?" the Manager shouted.
Malone let the machine loose and caught his breath. "He started it."
"Please scan your next item."
Malone completely lost his temper at this point and continued to thump the machine until he was thrown out by the shop's under-paid and yet under-sexed security guards. He was not allowed to return. This made seven grocery stores he could no longer visit.
