Give me thine sample, old lady

I've had it, fed up, enough already. I've had an ongoing beef (or lack of beef) with the old hags that divy out the samples at our local wholesale retail stores. This weekend, at a store I will not name but ends with AM'S, I was especially troubled. My wife, I and the girl were closing in on some crackers smeared with Brie when Grandma Goodwrench actually pulled the crackers back from her sample table as if she saw us coming. Ridiculous! C'mon, beside a 900-ton bottle of detergent and a 10-pound plastic container of cheese balls, why do we go to these places? This isn't my first problem. A few weeks ago, I snagged a sample off one of those little metal tables (on loan from the county coroner's office) and had the audacity not to say thank you. As I walked away. I received a sardonic "thank you" from the woman. I wanted to smack her over the head with a box of 600 muffins. Pardon me, aren't we supposed to take the samples or did I just accidentally stumble into your kitchen. This is all complicated by my experience a couple years ago when my Dad and I actually watched a sampler pack up her Peanut Nut Roll in a plastic container ( there was still plenty) and head for the door. Leave the sample on the table lady, we'll take over from here. I don't know where they get these women from – I presume they truck them over from the nursing home. I don't mean to demean old people, I love old people and, someday, hope to be one. But these women are mean, they're grumpy and, unfortunately, they've got the goods.