I Will Make the Streets Run With the Smelt of My Enemies

Dear Big Y,

You are apparently the official grocery store of the elderly. I congratulate you on carving out a niche for yourself and recognize that the elderly, living an unrushed retired life, enjoy a nice long interaction with any and all clerks they happen upon.  That said, some of us want to buy some milk and get the hell out of the grocery store without celebrating a birthday in your aisles, and you are really not making that shit easy.  My problem, you see, is your discount system.

Like all groceries - except Hannaford, which is awesome and magical and 45 minutes away - you have a little swipey card.  Fine.  I can live with that.  What I want to talk about is the coins.

Do you see that pile?  That's not even the whole pile.  My husband hoards them in strange places throughout the house, so there's probably double this amount squirreled away in various pockets and jars.  You will notice a preponderance of silver coins, which I literally get two of every time I manage to spend one.  Not only do I have to take my fucking card to the store, I also have to take these useless pieces of shit with me and then wander your store aimlessly looking for deals, or else spend time looking through your circular.  I HATE THIS.  Of course, they offer just enough savings in theory that I feel bad about throwing them out, so I keep them in a container over by the sink.

Listen to me.  I like you because you're an American owned business and I like when people take care of the elderly.  Also, you're the only grocery store nearby.  But if you do not cut it out with this shit, I swear on all that is good in this world that I will melt these things down and come to your store and start flinging melted metal at every smiling employee you have.  They're clearly made out of junk metal that cannot possibly have a melting point over like, 85 degrees.  DO NOT TEMPT ME.  THIS IS SERIOUS FUCKING BUSINESS.

Love,

Me