lane, wearing my FoodWorld T-shirt and name badge, I tried not to think about Kayla. Trying, of course, is not the same as succeeding.
A little old lady approached with a cart positively stuffed with way more than fifteen items, distracting me from my grim thoughts. I went around the counter and helped her unload her purchases onto my conveyor belt.
“I think I might have more than fifteen items,” she said with a girlish, oh dear me smile.
“You’re being a very naughty girl, aren’t you, darling?” I asked. “I may have to call security and have you arrested.”
She laughed.
“Did you bring your FoodWorld card?” I asked.
“I never leave home without it,” she said proudly.
“Well, let’s get you sorted out,” I said, taking her card and returning to my side of the register.
This particular lady was rather evil, always complained it was too cold, and always made a fuss about payment, which was invariably a check that required two minutes to extract from the depths of her humongous purse.
It all screamed: I want attention!
“How you doing today?” I asked as I ran her purchases through the scanner.
“It’s so cold in here,” she complained. “Especially on that frozen food aisle. I didn’t think to bring my coat.”
“Did you find everything you need?”
“And more. I always do.”
“I do the same,” I agreed.
Any idiot can run items through a scanner, which is, I suspect, one of the reasons they hired me.
“That will be forty-six dollars and thirty cents,” I said after I’d scanned her items.
She arched her eyebrows and made a face, like it was my fault that food was so dear.
“I feel your pain, darling,” I said. “They ought to line up all these food manufacturers against the wall and shoot the whole lot of them, don’t you think? Just machine gun all of them. Just blow them all away.”
“Oh, goodness no, Wiley!”
She laughed nervously, as many of my customers do when they’re trying to figure out whether I’m serious or just kidding.
“I think we should have a free food day,” I said while she dug around in her cavernous purse looking for her checkbook. “Just pick a day, and anything you can put in your cart is free. I think it would be awesome.”
“Oh, my, wouldn’t it be?” she asked.
“I shouldn’t say that too loudly or my boss will hear me,” I added.
“They should put you in charge,” she said.
“I’d have to wear a tie and cut my hair, and we both know that’s not going to happen, don’t we, darling?”
She laughed.
“Hey, boo,” Jalisa said, walking by the express lane. She was a young black girl with tattoos up and down her right arm who spoke rather like a man, and acted like one, too.
“Hey, Jalisa,” I replied. “You doing all right?”
“I’m having a blessed day,” she said.
She took up roost at the next checkout lane over from me, punching in her sign-on numbers like a pro.
While the old lady scratched out her check in surprisingly lucid handwriting, my line grew deeper and I sighed rather too heavily.
“Bad weather’s moving in,” the old bird said, finally handing me a check. “Never seen so many tornadoes in my life.”
“We don’t need no more of those,” I agreed. “Last time one went through, the wind blew so hard I had to have my butt cheeks sewn back together.”
“Oh, Wiley!” she exclaimed, a flush of red stealing across her face.
During this time, a very large woman went over to the change machine bearing a huge jar of coins in her fat arms. She proceeded to dump the change in the metal bowl and they began to clack, one by one, as their total was rung up automatically. The change machine was just opposite the express lane and a good deal of my day was spent listening to that horrid clacking, which grated my nerves. It was like having to listen to pop music all day.
“You have a good day,” I said to the old lady when I was finally able to tear off her receipt from the printer and hand it
A little old lady approached with a cart positively stuffed with way more than fifteen items, distracting me from my grim thoughts. I went around the counter and helped her unload her purchases onto my conveyor belt.
“I think I might have more than fifteen items,” she said with a girlish, oh dear me smile.
“You’re being a very naughty girl, aren’t you, darling?” I asked. “I may have to call security and have you arrested.”
She laughed.
“Did you bring your FoodWorld card?” I asked.
“I never leave home without it,” she said proudly.
“Well, let’s get you sorted out,” I said, taking her card and returning to my side of the register.
This particular lady was rather evil, always complained it was too cold, and always made a fuss about payment, which was invariably a check that required two minutes to extract from the depths of her humongous purse.
It all screamed: I want attention!
“How you doing today?” I asked as I ran her purchases through the scanner.
“It’s so cold in here,” she complained. “Especially on that frozen food aisle. I didn’t think to bring my coat.”
“Did you find everything you need?”
“And more. I always do.”
“I do the same,” I agreed.
Any idiot can run items through a scanner, which is, I suspect, one of the reasons they hired me.
“That will be forty-six dollars and thirty cents,” I said after I’d scanned her items.
She arched her eyebrows and made a face, like it was my fault that food was so dear.
“I feel your pain, darling,” I said. “They ought to line up all these food manufacturers against the wall and shoot the whole lot of them, don’t you think? Just machine gun all of them. Just blow them all away.”
“Oh, goodness no, Wiley!”
She laughed nervously, as many of my customers do when they’re trying to figure out whether I’m serious or just kidding.
“I think we should have a free food day,” I said while she dug around in her cavernous purse looking for her checkbook. “Just pick a day, and anything you can put in your cart is free. I think it would be awesome.”
“Oh, my, wouldn’t it be?” she asked.
“I shouldn’t say that too loudly or my boss will hear me,” I added.
“They should put you in charge,” she said.
“I’d have to wear a tie and cut my hair, and we both know that’s not going to happen, don’t we, darling?”
She laughed.
“Hey, boo,” Jalisa said, walking by the express lane. She was a young black girl with tattoos up and down her right arm who spoke rather like a man, and acted like one, too.
“Hey, Jalisa,” I replied. “You doing all right?”
“I’m having a blessed day,” she said.
She took up roost at the next checkout lane over from me, punching in her sign-on numbers like a pro.
While the old lady scratched out her check in surprisingly lucid handwriting, my line grew deeper and I sighed rather too heavily.
“Bad weather’s moving in,” the old bird said, finally handing me a check. “Never seen so many tornadoes in my life.”
“We don’t need no more of those,” I agreed. “Last time one went through, the wind blew so hard I had to have my butt cheeks sewn back together.”
“Oh, Wiley!” she exclaimed, a flush of red stealing across her face.
During this time, a very large woman went over to the change machine bearing a huge jar of coins in her fat arms. She proceeded to dump the change in the metal bowl and they began to clack, one by one, as their total was rung up automatically. The change machine was just opposite the express lane and a good deal of my day was spent listening to that horrid clacking, which grated my nerves. It was like having to listen to pop music all day.
“You have a good day,” I said to the old lady when I was finally able to tear off her receipt from the printer and hand it
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