Now that I think about it, many of my most meaningful relationships have been forged in grocery store check-out lanes. It's where I spend most of my time. I do what I have to.
So tonight I had to run into the grocery store by the hotel, which is either spelled HEB or H-E-B or H.E.B., I'm not totally sure, but they make the best cannoli I've eaten outside of Brooklyn, and I don't know any of these people yet. I don't know what check-out lane Audrey works in on Sunday night, or which day Dallas works the customer service counter, so I don't yet know which lane to use for which trip to the store.
I hop into the express lane with my four items and get to the check-out and hand over my purchases to the guy, because they were all guys, and what the hell are the odds of having only men checkers at the grocery store the exact night I am buying only one wine key, Tampax, Kotex and a box of Apple Jacks?
This is how it goes in my world. All the time.
So I say to the guy, "Sorry for making you touch all that stuff, dude" and he says, "Oh, it's okay, but I have to admit...the wine key is kind of throwing me here." And I turn all sorts of red and nervously cackle a little and don't at all make eye contact with the guy again when I shell out my $13.48, which is actually a pretty good price for 20 tampons, 30 pads, a kitchen tool, some sugar coated food coloring and a single serving slice of utter humiliation.
I grab my bag and mumble a rushed "thank you" in his general direction and get about 2.58 steps away when I realize that I am physically incapable of leaving it like that, so I stop, look back over my shoulder, and with an over-exaggerated wink say, "And just so you know, it's the Apple Jacks you ought to have been worried about."
And I'll never, ever go into that store ever again.