Monday, April 05, 2004
Self Discovery on Aisle Nine
Yesterday at the grocery store I ended up in line behind a woman who had apparently never purchased groceries, or in fact anything, before.
“Oh, is it me already?” she asked, as she looked up from her In Touch Weekly to observe that the prior customer had moved on some forty-five years earlier. “Hold on, let me get my bag. Now can I pay with credit card? It’s VISA. Is that okay? VISA? So I just swipe it here? Oops, I hit the wrong button. Shoot.”
It was at this point that I realized I could never work at a grocery store, because the desire to punch people is too strong in me. Got seventy coupons for unrelated products? Bam. Need a price check? Bam. Decided you don’t want the shrimp platter after all? You guessed it, bam. “Service with a Blow to the Head” would make a terrible slogan.
But our clerk was much more forebearing, and the verbal assault continued.
“Oh, I don’t have that discount card. Steve has ours. If we have one, I don’t know. Oh, I can just type in our phone number? That’s great! I love that. Shoot, I put in the wrong phone number.”
But eventually, she moved on, and I made my purchases about as smugly as anyone who’s buying Fruity Pebbles, five boxes of Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes, and three bags of Chex Mix can. I may eat like a child, but at least I can operate a credit card reader like an adult.
Yesterday at the grocery store I ended up in line behind a woman who had apparently never purchased groceries, or in fact anything, before.
“Oh, is it me already?” she asked, as she looked up from her In Touch Weekly to observe that the prior customer had moved on some forty-five years earlier. “Hold on, let me get my bag. Now can I pay with credit card? It’s VISA. Is that okay? VISA? So I just swipe it here? Oops, I hit the wrong button. Shoot.”
It was at this point that I realized I could never work at a grocery store, because the desire to punch people is too strong in me. Got seventy coupons for unrelated products? Bam. Need a price check? Bam. Decided you don’t want the shrimp platter after all? You guessed it, bam. “Service with a Blow to the Head” would make a terrible slogan.
But our clerk was much more forebearing, and the verbal assault continued.
“Oh, I don’t have that discount card. Steve has ours. If we have one, I don’t know. Oh, I can just type in our phone number? That’s great! I love that. Shoot, I put in the wrong phone number.”
But eventually, she moved on, and I made my purchases about as smugly as anyone who’s buying Fruity Pebbles, five boxes of Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes, and three bags of Chex Mix can. I may eat like a child, but at least I can operate a credit card reader like an adult.
