The HOV Lane at the Express Checkout

We'll all seen people with sweatshirts or tee-shirts that say 'ask me about my grandchildren.' At some point in the past unknown to me, I have been fitted with one that says 'tell me about anything; I ABSOLUTELY don't mind.'

I was in the local grocery yesterday afternoon and boy howdy did we all start going back to the store after what we keep hoping is the all-clear on CoVID 19 or what? No reason to not mask or not practice social distancing. Just sayin'. 

Anyway, I wasn't in the self-check-out line. I only had one item so I thought the express cashier was a good idea. Little did I realize how wrong at so many levels I could be. I wound up (at a safe distance) behind a fellow carrying a lot of stuff in his bare hands, without the benefit of a shopping cart or a basket. 

I, too, have had that happen, where I get ambushed in the baked goods by freshly made oatmeal and raisin cookies while I have my hands already full (A reach exceeds grasp kind of moment). Have there been times I've parked the item I originally came into the store to get and instead bought the other found along the way stuff, then taken that all out to the car, and then returned to purchase the original item? Yes, guilty as charged. Would I benefit from groceries having a corral of carts somewhere in the middle of the store for when I finally realize I can't possibly carry everything I want to buy? Yes, please. 

Not sure what happened with this guy. He was pushing a bag of charcoal briquettes in front of him but did not seem to have any meat you would normally associate with grilling in his hands (and I don't care to imagine where else he might have put it). I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I've never been hailed and enticed by briquettes when I'm Lost in the Supermarket, so I didn't have the highest regard for this fellow traveler on the Big Blue Marble.

He seemed to be talking to one of the magazines in that rack above the gum and candy, the one with what looked like Mel Gibson (I think) and (maybe) his girlfriend as a thumbnail-sized photo on the cover. But he wasn't. As he stacked his stuff (and '12 Items or less' became a suggestion, exactly when? I missed that memo) as high as he could on the smallest possible amount of space on the conveyor belt, he turned around to face me and much to my surprise continued talking. 

There was a reasonable amount of frantic head nodding and eye-blinking, not a lot of eye contact (ALL on my part), which was of no help at all in understanding a single word of whatever he was, or wasn't, saying through his mask.

All the while the cashier was scanning his stuff, he had his back to her, continuing to address me. When she announced the total, I had to point him, using the traditional rapid head bob technique (and NO sudden movements) in her general direction so that he realized the ride was just about done. 

Of course, he wasn't prepared to pay and went through his pockets looking for cash, paper, and coins, before defaulting to a credit card, shuffling off with enough plastic bags (at ten cents a pop) to choke a landfill all the while jabbering away to anyone (else) who made eye contact with him.

When I handed the cashier my sole item, she remarked that she hadn't seen me 'in here with that guy before' as if I made it a practice to collect strangers in the night. I thought about telling her just that and then decided silence, in my case, was golden. Besides, if I dawdled, I'd be late for the cookout, and that would never do.
-bill kenny