Are all teeny boppers this stupid or is the northwest rotting their brains?

I had this ravenous craving for little ceasar's crazy bread today. So, after class, I drive all the way across town to the only little ceasar's within forty miles. I walk in, a total mess in my too-long, too-ripped, soaking-wet-from-the-stupid-amount-of-rain sweatpants, hair and make-up putting Chris Crocker to shame.

In my peripheral vision I notice a burst of color. "oh god please no teeny boppers please not today" I'm begging the world don't make me deal with them. Apparently, the universe had other plans, plans that included putting a homicidally hungry lunatic in a room with a horde of creatures who look like rainbow brite and marilyn manson got together and threw up an army.

So, I'm standing in line (which is taking far too long by the way, isn't the point of little ceasar's their quick service?), when one of the goth-barbies gets a text message. And here, readers, is where the story takes a turn.

Gothbie #1 (screams at the top of her lungs): LYYYYYKEEEE what is a pole-ter-GEE-ist?

(say it with me now POLE-ter-GEE-ist.)

Gothbie #2 or 47 I'm not sure: "Whaaaat? pole-ter-GEE-ist? I don't know what a pole-ter-GEE-ist is, why, what did she say?"

Gothbie #1: "She said she was watching pole-ter-GEE-ist. Like, is that a new reality show or dating game or something?"

By this time the occupants of the store, the rest of us all being well over the age of 15, start to get restless. The girls are talking REALLY outrageously loud and really? who doesn't know what the poltergeist is? seriously? One lady in a business suit is standing in the corner mouth gaping in awe of the outright display of moron-ism.

So, here I come wonderful hero to save the day!

Me: "It's polterGEIST. Like a ghost, you know, the movie? She's watching a movie about a ghost!"

Well, I guess how dare I speak to such magnificent specimens of the human race because they just stared at me like I was completely insane for helping them out. Or maybe they were staring at the bread in my hair and the marinara sauce on my front that had just been bombed upon me by an uncontrolled three-year-old.

meh, either way I got my crazy bread.