I ride my bike to Costco, sporting a big empty red backpack. I get off, stick my ear buds in my ears, my hands in my pockets, and head down to floor B2.

It's a weekend, and Costco is characteristically crowded. I love going on the weekend, because I love to be angry, and a crowd of people with over-sized carts paying no attention to where they are really gets me going.

I buy coffee, bagels, and cream-cheese. And maybe some olive oil, I can't remember. If I bought cookies, I wouldn't write it here. What if my Mom read this and told my wife about it?

After paying, I stuff my purchases into my backpack. As I leave, I show the woman at the escalator my receipt. She looks at my backpack, marks the receipt with a felt pen, and hands it back to me.

My question it this: what was she doing? What is she checking for? That I have a receipt? That I got my bagels? Because she can be damn sure I got them. That I'm not stealing something? She certainly isn't checking that, because my pockets are full of M&Ms. I'm not sure what she's looking for, but I am sure that it's a damn good thing she didn't ask to look in my backpack.

Because I'm a tight ball of fury, waiting to explode.