Stuck in a Checkout Line with an Urge to Scream

Some days I just run out of luck. The milk had been guzzled by the kids and I’m forced to drink black tea. The bread had been torn to bits by the three year old who thought fun was making mini missiles she could launch around the breakfast table.

The day continued to go rapidly downhill, by lunchtime, I had found myself standing in line at the checkout waiting to pay for a shitty soggy sandwich that resembled the dog’s breakfast after he had spewed it up all over the cat’s arse.

I counted three operators all moving equally as slow. I contemplated my future, stuck in an endless queue that inched distressingly slow with each morbid step towards the front. There in all her glory was check-out queen of the till, Stephanie.

It was hard to discern her age. She moved with all the grace of a lumbering beaver who had just discovered his dam was leaking and was mildly panicked into stuffing the holes with chewed up pieces of twig. The image made no sense in my mind and equally less sense applied to Stephanie.

Magnificent Stephanie was no beaver and this damn was blocked solid. Nothing was moving.

Four person deep and Stephanie had raised her arm. Up it went, quivering, unsure of whether it should be up, a sorry excuse for arm waving, apologetically twitching in mid air. Is it raised?

It looked like Stephanie had become stuck. Unglued in time as her thought process froze. The computer needs rebooting. A jump-start to Stephanie’s behind.

“Daphne to Line 3, we have a spillage. Daphne to Line 3 please.”

“Fuck this,” I thought and sidled over to check-out number one.

Two person deep but manned by the monolithic slab of handsomeness that was sharp Dave. I could tell he was sharp by the sureness of his box packing. Small items placed carefully in first so as not to alarm the customer, then promptly squashed by large items on top.

No true Goliath of intellect was Dave, but boy did he have speed. Arms whizzing, there wasn’t any fruit he didn’t know or any vegetable he couldn’t identify.

It was unfortunate that his till was laden with old grannies who clearly hadn’t seen each other since the war and were only now catching up. On and on went their nattering. Mildred hadn’t heard the latest news about Alfred. In fact, she hadn’t heard at all. Time and time again she would pause asking her companion to speak up.

“Ugh. You fight two fucking wars only to end up holding everybody hostage in line at the checkout,” began my dream sequence that would see me shove granny one to the floor and elbow granny two as I screamed at Dave to scan my fucking sandwich.

Yeah, I was getting more and more irritable. I could feel the spirit of my mum take over as I tutted loudly behind the old pair of women. And boy could I tut.

Dave had stopped and began to stare at me as I unleashed my whole arsenal of passive aggressive behavior on the old dears. Eye rolls, muttering under my breath, the tut’s to end all tut’s, the not so subtle check of the watch while eyeballing Mildred as I tapped the imaginary time piece loudly.

Dave had an evil glint in his eye. I could see he had hatched a plan. That little bugger. I quietly dared him to do it so I could unleash my full discontented rage upon him. Fuck me, yes he’s doing it. Dave had grown a pair and was reaching for the ‘Next Till Please’ sign. Dave…I’m warning you…I said as loudly as dagger eyes could.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck! Seriously? Till closed? Fuck you Dave! Fuck you!” would have been my shocking outburst designed to fully exploit my red-faced angry troll look.

I silently walked to the back of the line at Stephanie’s check out.

Now five people deep and cursed the day…I would last one more ball aching minute before I dumped my sarnie on the nearest shelf and left in a huff.

Today wasn’t going to be my day.