Paying it Forward



Recently, I went to Walmart.

Whenever I shop at Walmart,  I always make sure to stand at the check-out with the longest line-up.  That way I can listen to people’s conversations while catching up on my favorite magazines. Other than my lifetime subscriptions to Reader’s Digest and Enormous Clitoris Monthly, I haven’t paid for a magazine in years.  .

Just as I was trying to figure out whose cellulite-laden ass was plastered on the cover of the National Enquirer that week (Uma Thurman), the gentleman  behind me tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said, “But I think you dropped something.”

Normally I wouldn’t fall for such a cheesy line. But because he was so attractive I decided to play along.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. I made sure to use my raspy voice, the one that makes me sound like I just finished smoking two packs of unfiltered cigarettes.  Trust me when I say it’s sexy.

After undoing the top three buttons of my shirt, I bent over and pretended to pick up an imaginary object. I told him I had been looking for this forever.

“Actually, I meant that.” He pointed to my lucky rabbit’s foot.  

Because I am very superstitious, I carry a rabbit’s foot wherever I go. I am also a die-hard animal lover. I don’t believe that a rabbit should have to suffer just for his foot. That’s why I have the rest of it propped up on my dining room table as a centerpiece. I find it really gets the conversation flowing when I have guests over.


I asked the man how I could ever thank him. I fluttered my eyelashes and unbuttoned my shirt even more.

“Wait…don’t I know you from somewhere?” This time there was no mistaking the passion in his voice.

“I think you do,” I said. By now my voice was so raspy it was bordering on Bobcat Goldthwait. “You’re donkey punch guy, am I right?”

Turns out he wasn’t donkey punch guy. He was the son of my mothers’ pastor. I told him I had to make a call. Then I turned around and pretended to talk into my cell phone.

The cashier rang in my purchases– An economy size bottle of Mane ‘n Tail Shampoo (Tori Spelling swears by it),  a tensor bandage (more user- friendly than Spanx) and a bumper sticker that read, “Canadians Do it In The Buck Loonie.”


LOL! (But seriously we do.)


The total came to thirteen dollars and sixty-four cents. I was a dollar fifty short. I looked up and noticed the cashier’s name tag.

“Jose, you are from Mexico, right?” He nodded. “Well then, how about if instead of giving you money I let you stick your tongue down my throat?” I know for a fact that this is what Mexicans like to do to foreign women. (That’s why I go there so often.)

He didn’t answer me so I tried again in Spanish. “Tu y yo, el sexo.” I pointed to him and then did a groin chop. He said that he spoke English and he wasn’t allowed to have sex with customers while working.

“Well, can we barter at least?” He shook his head no.  

I was about to make a run for it when the pastor’s son tapped me on the shoulder. “Here, take this.” He handed me a twenty. I thanked him and said I would pay it forward. I made sure to bend over so he could get one last peek of the goods. Then I took my change and left.

As I was walking up to my house, I saw the daughter of my hippie neighbors sitting on their organically-grown grass. She looked upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she lost her cat.

“Can you help me find it?” she asked.

Suddenly I realized that this was my opportunity to pay it forward. “Actually, I’m really busy right now,” I said. “But I can give you this.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the lucky rabbit’s foot.

She took it and looked at it carefully. I could feel my heart swell. Gluten-free tears welled up in her eyes. She said it looked just like her kitten’s paw.

Before she could say anything else, I put my finger to her lips and told her to hush.

Knowing I had given her hope was thanks enough for me.


  1. So I finally saw pay it forward for the first time and it was really upsetting and sad.

    • I’ve heard that. That’s why I haven’t seen it. I cry while watching “Extreme Couponing,” that movie would probably put me over the edge.

      True story.

  2. oh b, you make me want to be a better man. Im gonna hunt me a bigass deer and have a lucky hoof. Or really make a hat with the antlers on it for the kids in the neighbourhood at christmas time. Looking like rudolph will bring tears to their eyes for sure.

    Its the generosity and the smiles of ordinary people that really make it all worthwhile.


  3. I wonder if the lost cat was a metaphor for your pussy, which the pastor’s son was obviously desperate to fondle. If only you’d slipped a note into his hand with a rendezvous address on it.

  4. You’re such a sweet, kind, thoughtful person. I’m sure that sawed off rabbit foot was an excellent reminder of the probably torn-to-pieces-dead kitten of hers.

    Morale of the story? Thank God for Walmart.

  5. If you were really nice you would have cut your finger and sprinkled some fresh blood on that foot. The cat might have come running for some meat.

  6. I can see this as a movie on the Hallmark Channel. Valerie Bertinelli could play you, Paul Reiser could play that guy and the Wednesday Addams-lookalike could play the girl with the missing cat.

  7. My ex-girlfriend’s father, who is a dog owner, religiously uses Mane ‘n Tail shampoo. On himself. THIS IS TRUE.

  8. Gluten free tears! HI-Larious!!!!! (Quoting Vodka&GroundBeef, R.I.P.)

    You probably haven’t heard this yet, but Reader’s Digest is on the verge of completing a VERY hostile takeover of Enormous Clitoris Monthly. The Board meetings have been very loud but nicely catered, so the rumor mill says. Anyway, if the deal goes through you’ll probably save some subscription money, plus they’ll be putting coupons for Brazilian wax jobs into the new RD Condensed Enormous Clitoris Monthly Magazine.

    PS. In my country, rabbit feet are bad luck. For the rabbit anyway. Sorry.

    • I KNEW it was only a matter of time! I mean, have you read the humor section in EC Monthly? Really, it puts Reader’s Digest to shame.

      Especially the “Humor In Non-Uniform (aka. Commando)” and “Labia’s Are Like That!” sections.

      Then again, I could be biased.

  9. I’m always amazed at how much good you do every day just by going out of the house and helping the poor souls you encounter.

  10. i know youre in canada but where exactly?

    • Do you mean which house?

      I’m in Vancouver, but my squatting quarters living arrangements change regularly. Only because I like to switch things up.

  11. I could quote this post incessantly. I honestly could. It would be weird, seeing as I’m not female, but that might add to the hilarity. I probably would get beaten up a bit, which adds its own hilarity, but I like to work “outside the joke”, rather than from the painful inside. This is mainly because I value humour more than having pain inflicted on me.

    For instance:

    “Jose, you are from Mexico, right?” He nodded. “Well then, how about if instead of giving you money I let you stick your tongue down my throat?” I know for a fact that this is what Mexicans like to do to foreign women. (That’s why I go there so often.)

    He didn’t answer me so I tried again in Spanish. “Tu y yo, el sexo.” I pointed to him and then did a groin chop. He said that he spoke English and he wasn’t allowed to have sex with customers while working.”

    I don’t know where exactly I’d quote that, but one thing is for sure: no one would be questioning my attitude towards Eskimos anymore.

    I’d also like to echo Lynn’s stalker-esque comment. I don’t need an exact location as Google maps should be able to put A + B together for me.

    Turn right on 6th Street 0.6 miles
    North on Hwy 81 several hundred miles
    Exchange American dollars and wallet for multi-colored money and fanny pack Are you planning to visit any farms?
    GOTO 30
    30 Bschool c/o Aunt B’s House of Weird-Ass Books and “Hi-Speed Dialup”
    [ ] In jail
    [ ] Just waiting
    Roll again.
    D’énormes Clitoris Siège Magazine 500 mètres

    • Dying. Like. Seriously. DIE-ING.

      This comment has everything I could ever ask for. Praise, Latin romance, directions, and of course, French.

      Because as you probably already know, my Canada includes Quebec.

  12. I actually just died when I read “enormous clitoris monthly”

  13. You had me at Walmart!!! ***Drawing a heart with my pointer fingers*** (Please tell me you were wearing a thong and rollerblades)…

    • Ha! I wish! Try granny panties and a motorized scooter. (I’m shy that way.)

      ps. The heart drawn with your pointer fingers is going on my mantel. For real.:)

      • Well I guess as long as you have a moose knuckle in your granny panties… Wouldn’t want to change the ‘class’ of WallyWorld!!

        ps. Can I trust you or should I ask for photographic proof??

  14. Aside from laughing all the way through your WalMart mishap, I loved the Easter egg joke bomb you hid in the tags, the one about not really having one.

  15. 25 pounds really isn’t that impressive for a healthy, well-toned vagina.

  16. A more perfecter ending to a more perfecter day could not have possibly happened. Lil miss paisley will surely treasure the awesome foot for a very long time, like maybe a week or so. It was organic, wasn’t it?

    Were you able to pay the preachers son back in kind? Sexually charged religious nomads want to know, not that I’m claiming to be any of the above, mind you.

    • Of course it was organic, Jammer. All she has to do is plant it in the soil, and in a few years she’ll have a lucky hare’s foot.

      I don’t think I was his type/gender. Which sucks, because sexually charged religious nomads are the best kind!

  17. Enormous Clitoris Monthly. Is that the one with Oprah on the cover?


  18. izziedarling says:

    You are funny! I’ll give you my great-grandmother’s fox stole (head attached) if you want to continue your good deeds. Mull it over.

  19. Leanne Moffat says:

    I have kittens for your neighbour. She can have all six. Should I mail them or Greyhound? I’ll do anything to help get that little bitch to stop crying. It’s gotta be so uncomfortable for you to have to listen to it! So sorry for you.

    • Don’t Greyhound them! I went from Vancouver to Cranbrook via Greyhound at Christmas, and somehow my bags ended up in Calgary.

      By the time the kittens get here, they’ll be cats. And no longer fun to play with.

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