This Happened, Too

Last week after softball practice, I thought I would get something for a late dinner at Harris Teeter before I headed home. My only goal was to get something and be home in time to catch “Lost,” and considering it was 9:40 p.m., I figured the place would be near-empty and this would be a doable task. Little did I know what I was stepping into.

Moving with an unnerving determination, I quickly selected my dinner and made for the self-checkout lane. At this hour, one of the two self-checkout facilities was closed, which was a little off-putting, but I shrugged it off. Of course, one of the machines in the only remaining self-checkout lane was broken (I believe this is a Harris Teeter mandate), but after a sigh and a slight shake of the head, I was still confident.

At the first of the three remaining machines, I notice a disheveled-looking lady ringing in a variety of fruit, apparently prepping for a redneck luau. Of course, she has to call the 16-year-old tool at the booth over to help her ring in each one individually. At the end of this interminable menagerie, she decides that she should write a check now. I mean, isn’t that the point of this fucking lane?! And who uses checks anymore – especially at a grocery store?! Does this lane double as a transporter that has taken me back to 1982 all of a sudden!? And is she even wearing shoes?!

Heart-rate increasing, I turn my attention to the second machine. Here, a puzzled-looking guy in his mid-50s, wearing suspenders and dress shirt, appears to be trying to make sense of using his credit card. He stares at the pen where you sign your name electronically for about 10 seconds before he comes to the realization that it isn’t for sticking up your tailpipe. Obviously a self-checkout novice, which leads me to wonder why, every time you go to this lane, someone seems to be using it for the very first time? Where do these people come from? Where do they find their food before they break down and endorse the grocery store system? These people seem cautious and wary, like they are about to use a time machine instead of a goddam checkout device. I mean, this ass clown looks like he’s trying to apply for a low-cost mortgage instead of just paying for his Gatorade and toilet paper and going home.

At this point, I begin to look around for hidden cameras, convinced that I am being Punk’d or an unwilling participant in a grocery-store variant of the Boiling Point reality show. With half-hearted optimism, I look to the third machine … of course, an oldish lady is puzzling through her change purse and force-feeding nickels and pennies into the machine. She keeps checking the monitor like she’s playing the slots at fucking Bally’s. I suppress the urge to scream, “Hey, Gertrude, you’re not going to get three Jokers this time, so live a little, whip out the $20 bill and pay for your Meuslix and D batteries all at once like a big girl!”

Behind me, no fewer than a dozen people are now waiting impatiently in this “convenient” lane, affixing death stares to Butner Buelah, Confused Suspenders Crisis and Trudy “Buffalo Nickel” Trotsky. Since the Teeter only has like two lanes open in addition to this one, mass chaos is looming. Livid at this point, I am contemplating firing my food across the store and marching out, but just then, Butner Buelah autographs her check with an “X,” gets confirmation and shuffles out to her Pacer/living room. I feel like I’ve won the lottery, amazing since you would think that a purveyor would make it as easy as possible for you to exchange currency for desired goods.

I race home in time for the start of “Lost,” silently promising myself once again that I would swear off the Teeter and start living off squirrels I catch in the backyard. Then I remember that I am a Very Important Customer … and I am able to put aside that this happened, and I am reborn once more.