A day in the life…

Last Friday I woke up early to walk over to the local farmers’ market. I moved into my new apartment exactly a week before, but the refrigerator was just delivered last night, so I was delighted by the thought of having groceries again.

The farmers’ market was amazing; I appreciated my neighborhood and was happy to be exactly where I was at that moment in time. I walked home, put everything away, made myself a healthy snack, and decided to go run some errands.

I had a check to deposit so I stopped by a chain grocery store that has an in-house branch of my bank.  While I was there I felt it a opportune time to grab orange juice and a few other things that I couldn’t buy at the farmers’ market.

I cruised through the wine section on my way out to see if there was a deal I could not live without. I found a Shiraz marked down to two dollars; you would have thought I won the lottery. 

I add it to my basket and go to the self-checkout line, because who wants to deal with another human when you don’t have to? (Jokes.) 

I have my headphones in, I am jamming to Salt N Pepa or something, and I scan my items. The screen puts up one of those giant YOU JUST DID SOMETHING WRONG messages, so I look to the cashier thinking she just needs my ID to buy the wine.

This lady points about six inches above my head. I look up and see a fairly large, bright yellow, laminated sign attached to the top of the self check-out that reads something like PURCHASE OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES STRCITLY PROHIBITED. Oops.

“Okay,” I say, “I don’t really need it then.”

“NO!” the woman interjects, “just take it to the customer service desk.” This lady is the newest addition to my friend list; she understands, and quite frankly insists that I need this two-dollar bottle of wine. She grabs the bottle and starts walking towards customer service.

I finish my self-check-out process and walk that way. I take about three steps and the lady is coming back towards me because there is a line at the service desk.

This lady goes into one of the regular check-out lines and puts me in front of the next patron. I feel incredibly rude, and slightly embarrassed that I am butting in line to buy a two-dollar bottle of wine.

The cashier rings it up, I give her my preferred shoppers card for the discount, and she tells me the total: $2.16. I have two one-dollar bills in hand and now that I know the change amount I can dig around for the coins.

I find a nice combo to make twenty-one cents, which will leave me with a solid nickel in return. I am proud of myself and happy that I will not be tossing a bunch of pennies into my wallet.

I hand the two dollars and twenty-one cents to the cashier. I add the bottle of wine to my reusable bags that have the items I purchased at the self-check-out isle, and I wait for my nickel.

Without breaking our eye contact, the cashier leans her body to my right and picks up the nickel from the plastic corral into which your change is automatically dispensed. Bless her heart, that cashier was lovely and understanding. She could have rolled her eyes and added me to the stupid category, but instead she made my day.