So my boss calls me and says he needs me to work on the drawbridge from midnight to 8 a.m., which believe it or not is great news, because I sure could use the money. But since I’m the resident floater who can be called in at a moment’s notice to work any day, any shift, you name it, I’m your girl, it means that a wrench gets thrown into any plans I might have for the day.
I hang up the phone and realize I’m going to have to spend the evening trying to force myself to get some sleep, which means I need to do my long overdue grocery shopping, like…NOW.
I rush off to the grocery store with my 2 ½ mile long list, make all my selections, and am kind of grateful that I’m in too much of a hurry to make impulse buys because I haven’t had anything to eat all day. (Well, okay, so I didn’t REALLY need that pint of coffee ice cream. Cut me a little slack.)
Anyway, I head to the checkout lines, and they’re all extremely busy, so I choose the line that looks the shortest. We know how futile that is, but, hey, I remain optimistic. There are two people ahead of me, and the first one has already had her stuff all bagged. Lady number two, suspiciously, has left all her food in the cart instead of putting it on the conveyor belt, and I think, fine. I start putting my items on the belt, hoping it will jog her memory or something.
I get all my stuff out of my cart and two other people move behind me when it starts to dawn on me that choosing this line was a really, REALLY bad idea. Lady number one is freaking out. She’s only got 3 small plastic bags of food, and the cashier is telling her that it will be $172.00. Everyone, even the cashier eventually, figures out that this can’t possibly be right. The manager comes over and they fiddle around with various keys, she cancels the whole thing and starts over, and now it’s only $43.00. The cashier, who is named after some obscure inanimate object like Chifferobe, apologizes profusely, and admits that she’s new. She’s only been working there for 20 minutes.
Oh joy. All my stuff is already on the conveyor belt and there are now 4 people waiting behind me. There’s no way to discreetly change lanes now. Sigh. Suddenly the belt starts to move, and all my purchases head right for the cash register and I’m saying, “Wait! Wait!” Because lady number two never did put her stuff on the belt. So now she has to hand her stuff to the cashier one by one, over the top of my food.
When Chifferobe hits the total key, we all hold our collective breath. Thankfully the amount seems reasonable. The woman pays her in a big sweaty wad of coins. Poor Chifferobe is sort of at a loss as to what to do, so she spills them over the scanner and counts them out slowly, and finally sends lady number two on her merry way.
Now it’s my turn. As Chifferobe reaches for my discount card, she knocks some of my stuff to the ground, and it seems to have a domino effect. Soon there are cans rolling all over the aisle and boxes being crushed under foot. Thank God the eggs got through unscathed. (And the ice cream, or I’d have gotten really cranky.)
She means well, but I suspect Chifferobe is not long for the world of merchandising arts. In her defense, as I was wheeling my cart out the door, feeling quite relieved that I made it out alive, she did thank me for my patience, and she was always quite polite. As we say in the south when we’re feeling catty, “Bless her heart.”