In spite of being a beer (and coffee) snob, or connoisseur as one person put it, I will sometimes buy these things from a store. Coffee from the store is fine, but here in Colorado only bad beer is sold in the grocery stores (3.2% or less). The other day, I and my purchases made our way to the check-out. I picked the slowest moving lane in the hopes that irony would come to my aid and make it the fastest lane ever. Ironically enough, it was a slow lane.
When it was my turn for the ringing up, silence ensued. Occasional beeps happened as the checker very deliberately scanned each item. When he got to my bad beer, he asked for my i.d. since, “You look 21, but I need to make sure you’re 22.” So. He looked and more silence ensued.
Onion. Beep. Taquitos. Beep. Bananananas. Beep. He looked up and said, “Did you know you were born on a Saturday?” Beep. I replied, “Uh. No. Huh. I didn’t know that.” Beep. English muffins. Beep. Tomato. Beep. “The next time your birthday will be on a Saturday is in 2017. It would have been in 2012, except it’s a leap year.” Beep. “Any stamps or ice today?”
Moral of today’s story: I am sometimes freaked out/amazed by going to the grocery store.
An Erinku:
still covered in
Dylan’s fur
eight weeks
after the move
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