Moments in Time:

The cashier scans each item, creating a small stack on the other end of the counter before turning and quickly bagging it for the old woman in front of me. The senior snags each full bag and carefully puts it in her cart. She’s thin enough that she can move around the small space with no issue, even with the large metal buggy in the middle. Her movements are slightly stiff and arthritic. I wonder if I look the same when I bend and twist to pull things out of the basket. The slight squeak and groan of the conveyor is beginning to wear on my nerves, as is the thin sound of Bon Jovi’s voice being piped in from some unseen speakers. I glance around at all of the sweets that are placed at just the right spots and at just the right angle and in just the right lighting for all of those last minute impulse buys. I feel a small sense of satisfaction for not giving in and sticking to what I already had. The song changes to Heart, at least I think it is, and with a sigh I glance ahead of me. There is finally enough room to start loading my items. Milk, bread, eggs, creamer, coffee, cheese, bananas, lunchmeat, hummus... I do this for several long minutes before my cart is empty and the old woman’s is full. My back is aching; I have been on my feet for hours now. I hear the cashier speak a total and see the old woman pull out her wallet. I’m relieved and happily imagine what it will feel like to sit down when I get home. I’m in the middle of leaning back in my desk chair when I realize the cashier is picking up the phone to call a manager over, and the old woman is carefully going through her bags and taking items out.

My back complains loudly one last time before settling down, because I see now that the old woman doesn’t have enough money to pay for her full order. The cashier mouths that she’s sorry. I smile and nod. Meanwhile, I watch this grandmother go through her bags. I see her pull out the items we can all live without. A bag of cookies, a package of precooked microwave meals, a quart of ice cream. The scanner beeps again as her total is lowered. A new amount… again my mind goes somewhere soft and comfy, and again it is brought back by the rustling of plastic bags and the hushed voices of cashier and manager discussing the cashier’s upcoming lunch break. I fidget, trying hard not to get impatient; we’ve all been there. I eye the gum and wonder if I need any more. I am almost ready to reach for a pack when I notice that now she is pulling out things like chicken breasts, bananas, carrots, and a small pack of pork chops. I stop fidgeting and frown as the beeps sound again, wondering if this time it will be enough. The look on the cashiers face is enough of an answer and, when I hear the balance, I reach for my wallet. As my fellow patron starts to go through her bags again, I indicate to the cashier I am going to pay for the whole order and ask her to ring them back up. I slide my card through the reader. I speak to the old woman. Tell her she doesn’t need to put anything else back and to have a great day. She looks at me strangely and nods; I hear a mumbled thank you. I smile, hand the cashier my price cutter card as the old woman moves away, and my mind is once again finding the nearest soft seat to park in as soon as humanly possible.