MAY YOU SLIP ON A PIECE OF FREE RANGE CHICKEN SKIN ANAD FALL INTO A PILE OF ORGANIC BANANAS!

Late this afternoon I rode my bike to the co-op to get some foodstuffs. I bought a bag of mixed greens, a champagne mango, one can of refried black beans, a bag of bulk almonds, a bag of bulk yogurt covered raisins, one pork sweet Italian Sausage, a little chunk of feta, farmer and blue cheese, a bag of bulk pecans, and two bars of soap. When I reached the checkout lanes, they were all busy. But there also weren’t lines, so it’s not like they were swamped.

Anyway, I counted my items and decided to go to the “10 items or less” line. I unloaded my petit basket and watched the tightly fastened smile of the checkout clerk, spring from her face. I read her body language and grimaced in goofy apology, “It’s twelve items. I hope that’s okay.” But her expression was, in my opinion, completely unforgiving as she pointed out the obvious, “This is the ten items and less, lane.” Me, stuttering and surprised, “Oh, I didn’t know you guys were so exact in your methods. Would you like me to take my groceries to another lane?” She replied with an exaggerated sigh, as though I symbolized every asshole who ever snubbed the sign, “Not at this point.” I blushed in anger and literally bit my tongue, because I knew whatever came out of my mouth would be swarming with rancor. She finished up with the guy ahead of me, stretched her smile back onto her face like she was re-lacing a slingshot, and then addressed me like I had just appeared in line, “And how are you doing today?” She was so smug it made me want to shoot those fat blue rubber bands at her. The ones they use to bind the broccoli stalks together. Multiple. Times. to the Upper. Arm.