What worried me about my basket was that the items were large enough to take up all of the space and then some. A couple of cans were actually balancing on top of a cereal box that was sticking out of the basket. But it was fifteen items. I knew it for a fact because I counted them. But did the other customers know? Probably not. Fools.
In my fantasy, the guy behind me says, “Hey! It’s fifteen items or less, buddy. Wrong line!”
And then I go, “Yeah? Well let’s see what I have here!”
And then I place each item from my basket onto the conveyor belt, counting them one by one in a patronizing tone. Sure enough, it’s fifteen.
Why not dream big? They’re selling calculators by the gum! I take a calculator off the peg and stare at the humbled naysayer as I throw it into the pile.
“Tell you what,” I say like a total jerk. “This one’s on me.”
Everyone in line laughs, including this really attractive woman who is also incredibly smart, but not so smart that she’s automatically repelled by mediocrity. In fact, maybe she finds it enticing. The intangibles. Kind of like when you coax a stray dog into a shopping center after they refuse to let you return something because they think you opened it.
“That’s sixteen items,” says the checker, snapping me out of my second daydream and back into the first.
And I think, “Oh no! The calculator!”
“Umm..I guess, uh… I’ll just leave the milk here,” I say.
On the walk home I try to justify leaving the milk behind. I think about how I heard that humans aren’t supposed to drink milk anyways. I think about how I’ve heard it’s bad for you.
But then I remember all of the cereal I have at home and my heart feels like it’s melting into my stomach.
“Well surprise, surprise!” I think to myself. “Real tough stuff back there.”
“Oh shut up!” I scream.
I think of kicking the fictional guy from the line. He has this condition where he dies after one kick.
THE END
