Soft Serve Service

I went to WallyWorld last night for a few essential items. Actually, about six essentials and ended up with about eleven total.

After making my choices, I zoomed to the short line and waited; there were only two people ahead of me, so the wait would likely be short. The woman at the checkout counter had a relatively small collection of various produce items. The older woman behind her had two containers of ice cream, a tub of margarine, some bagels, a loaf of bread, and a bag of Fritos.

We both stood by, waiting for what was sure to be a short time before we could make our purchases.

As the minutes dragged by, it became obvious that our wait would be anything but short. Watching the checker and the current customer, there was what seemed like an inordinate amount of banter and contact. The customer lady seemed to be insisting on a personal inspection of every piece of produce in the bags, which turned out to be a sizeable haul. As she stood there smiling, the checker tenderly unwrapped all the fruits and vegetables, the customer pointed out nearly every one on a sale sheet. The smiling, slow-motion checker delicately turned each item to find the code and entered it carefully by hand into the keypad.

Meanwhile, at the next register, the young family of six sailed through their line with a groaning cart of groceries and summer items. At the same time, we were stalled out at the glacial line. It was then that I noticed the ice cream, mainly, and it made me think of my milk warming in my basket. I was wondering if granny was planning on eating the two melty half gallons in the car. Her bread was heading toward moldy, her bagels were going stale, I could hear them turning. The only thing she had in her basket that was not perishable was the bag of Fritos. Come to think of it, they won't go stale for another ten years.

Finally, the negotiations finally came to a close, she FINALLY paid her tab, and the old lady got to put her cartons of milkshake and tub of vegetable oil, along with her stale bagels and moldy bread on the short counter to tally.

It was then that I noticed that the checker was probably a greenhorn who didn't know the codes. By the time I got there, I was a little older, and wishing I could change my sour cream milk for a fresh gallon. Our little clerk was very friendly; achingly slow but friendly. By the time I got through, the little old lady was probably back at her car, eating her ice cream with her driver's license.