Even though this was a Monday, and only nine days away from the month-end deadlines, I had to get to the bank and the supermarket this morning. I hadnít been for a week, and I was almost out of money and completely out of groceries. Every day last week something had come up — sometimes good, sometimes not so good, but always at the time I would otherwise have done my banking and shopping.
So I had a pretty long list, and I hit the ATM first so I could recover enough twenties to get what I needed. I filled up the cart, too, without getting anything that wasnít on the list. For a hundred dollars, you should come home with two or three cartloads of groceries, not just one, but thatís how it works these days. Naturally, when I went to check out, they had one register open, with a line. Thatís not including the two express lanes that were open, with no lines to speak of.
I tend to shy away from personal contact with other shoppers. Itís hard enough for me to make nice with the checkers. But this guy behind me in line saw my cornbread mix and asked me if it was good. I said it was, for a mix (not sure what I meant by that, exactly). He asked if it was sweet. Sweet enough, I told him.
ďAinít nothing better than good, sweet cornbread,Ē he drawled. Iím pretty sure it was a real drawl, too, and not something he learned in acting class. I allowed as how I couldnít argue with him on that score. Thatís about as friendly as I ever get with strangers, but as I was pushing my cart out the door, he noticed that I was using reusable green bags and called after me, ďThanks for saving the environment!Ē I gave him a wave as I escaped.