ltr

the cashier is racing to get every item scanned as quickly as possible. there are five checkout lines open out of a possible thirty-two checkout lines in the store. through each of the five open checkout lines, the same relative number of customers are being funneled, widening out at the end of the lines into the young ladies' clothing section. the woman unloading her cart dillydallies--offering commentary on each item she puts onto the belt, seemingly unaware of the swarm around her--the heated looks of the customers waiting behind her in line.

"oh, these--" she says, wild-eyed and holding a box of chocolate coffee health bars in front of the cashier, "have you tried these? they're great!"

the cashier continues scanning the woman's items. it's apparent to everyone waiting in line that the cashier is not interested in the woman's attempts at small talk. the woman persists, dropping a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms on the belt.

"can't remember the last time i bought those. i've been spayed!"

the woman laughs to herself--doesn't bother looking at the cashier's reaction or anyone else around her--almost as if it were her own private game in which she is forced to come up with one little quip about each item before it is bagged.

she takes the next filled bag and puts it into her cart, having finally finished unloading.

"how much do i owe you?" she asks, bringing out her checkbook. she looks at the screen displaying the total and squints her eyes. the cashier says meekly: "forty-one. sixty-two." but the woman is still squinting at the screen. "what's that say? forty-one. sixty--."

"sixty-two," the cashier says.

bringing her pen down from where she holds it eagerly hovering above her checkbook, she makes out the check in very ornate-looking but hurried cursive.

later...