Brr...its cold
Monday, February 05, 2007As I was sitting inside the Common Ground office seeking shelter for the horrid cold outside (more on that later), a memory found its way up from the depths of my subconscious and I think I should share it with you guys.
When I was in high school I used to work as a cashier at a supermarket. It was Genuardi's Supermarkets, although the company was owned by another - Safeway. I always thought that Genuardi's sounded and looked better than the generic looking "Safeway". And yes, you pronounce it Gen-ar-di's. There's no Gen-U-ar-di's. Or whatever you were thinking. Wrong.
Anyway, I used to work there and I'm not sure if anyone else has worked as a cashier before but its oddly therapeutic in a weird twisted sense. Kind of similar to S/M but not so whippish. What do I mean? Well, it was so interesting to watch people move in and out of the queue. Everyone with their own separate agenda and their own needs and wants. This person has toliet paper and the other guy has apples. And every transaction was like a short mini-conversation even if there were no words exchanged except for the total price and a brief "thanks" at the end.
Don't get me wrong, I completely hated the job and I would moan everytime I had to go to work. I would find ways of not going to work or leave so that I would get to work exactly on time so that I didn't spend more time there than was necessary. I hated the bosses and I hated some of the customers who came in and excepted things that were unfit for such a estabilishment. At times, I felt like taking my precious, precious pen (and we all know how precious pens are in a workplace) and stabbing a rude customer in the eye.
However, the memory. Right. This memory involved one specific woman. I can't really recall her face very clearly anymore but I remember that she was about late thirties to early forties. This is the only part that I choose to believe is fact. I can't believe that I remembered she wore a fur coat and had fake eye lashes. I probably just made that up just now. I don't know. Anyway, she was purchasing cigarretts or something and when you buy cigarrettes you need to present your ID (since you can only buy cigarrettes if you're 18 years or older). But common sense tells you that if a woman looks late thirties and early forties, they are 18 years old or older. C'mon, let's not be a dumbass here.
But this particular night, I wasn't really paying attention because after a while the motions become automatic, the smiles prerendered and plastered on my face. I rang up the smokes and asked for her ID. She looked so startled as if I had asked her if she really liked chocolates or does she just pretend. Quite instantly a smile appeared on her face as she proudly whips out her ID and presents it to me. Of course, by this time I had realized my mistake and I was very embarrassed. I thought she would have been offended. But instead, after careful inspection of her ID and checking to see whether or not it was a fake, I handed it back to her and she said, "Thanks for checking my ID. No, really. Thanks." and it sounded sincere. Very sincere.
As she left the line, I noticed a little bounce in her steps. Perhaps she will later realize that I just wasn't paying attention and I wasn't paying her a compliment. But, honestly, I would prefer if she remembered me as the boy who asked her ID to see if she was really 18 or older.
Do you think she remembers me? Do you think the moral of this story is that, indeed, fantasy and illusion is better than reality? Is everything in our mind? Reality is filtered through our mental prisim and is refracted back as all rainbow and unicorns?
Occasionally after that incident, I would joke with subsequent ladies who went in and purchased cigarrettes. And I would always seem like the courteous young gentleman. But in reality, I just made one mistake which turned out for the better.
PS. It is effin cold outside. Like, walking to classes makes my legs numb. I want to die.
PSS. I only worked at that supermarket for six months in which I quit and became a member of the staff at the local public library.
When I was in high school I used to work as a cashier at a supermarket. It was Genuardi's Supermarkets, although the company was owned by another - Safeway. I always thought that Genuardi's sounded and looked better than the generic looking "Safeway". And yes, you pronounce it Gen-ar-di's. There's no Gen-U-ar-di's. Or whatever you were thinking. Wrong.
Anyway, I used to work there and I'm not sure if anyone else has worked as a cashier before but its oddly therapeutic in a weird twisted sense. Kind of similar to S/M but not so whippish. What do I mean? Well, it was so interesting to watch people move in and out of the queue. Everyone with their own separate agenda and their own needs and wants. This person has toliet paper and the other guy has apples. And every transaction was like a short mini-conversation even if there were no words exchanged except for the total price and a brief "thanks" at the end.
Don't get me wrong, I completely hated the job and I would moan everytime I had to go to work. I would find ways of not going to work or leave so that I would get to work exactly on time so that I didn't spend more time there than was necessary. I hated the bosses and I hated some of the customers who came in and excepted things that were unfit for such a estabilishment. At times, I felt like taking my precious, precious pen (and we all know how precious pens are in a workplace) and stabbing a rude customer in the eye.
However, the memory. Right. This memory involved one specific woman. I can't really recall her face very clearly anymore but I remember that she was about late thirties to early forties. This is the only part that I choose to believe is fact. I can't believe that I remembered she wore a fur coat and had fake eye lashes. I probably just made that up just now. I don't know. Anyway, she was purchasing cigarretts or something and when you buy cigarrettes you need to present your ID (since you can only buy cigarrettes if you're 18 years or older). But common sense tells you that if a woman looks late thirties and early forties, they are 18 years old or older. C'mon, let's not be a dumbass here.
But this particular night, I wasn't really paying attention because after a while the motions become automatic, the smiles prerendered and plastered on my face. I rang up the smokes and asked for her ID. She looked so startled as if I had asked her if she really liked chocolates or does she just pretend. Quite instantly a smile appeared on her face as she proudly whips out her ID and presents it to me. Of course, by this time I had realized my mistake and I was very embarrassed. I thought she would have been offended. But instead, after careful inspection of her ID and checking to see whether or not it was a fake, I handed it back to her and she said, "Thanks for checking my ID. No, really. Thanks." and it sounded sincere. Very sincere.
As she left the line, I noticed a little bounce in her steps. Perhaps she will later realize that I just wasn't paying attention and I wasn't paying her a compliment. But, honestly, I would prefer if she remembered me as the boy who asked her ID to see if she was really 18 or older.
Do you think she remembers me? Do you think the moral of this story is that, indeed, fantasy and illusion is better than reality? Is everything in our mind? Reality is filtered through our mental prisim and is refracted back as all rainbow and unicorns?
Occasionally after that incident, I would joke with subsequent ladies who went in and purchased cigarrettes. And I would always seem like the courteous young gentleman. But in reality, I just made one mistake which turned out for the better.
PS. It is effin cold outside. Like, walking to classes makes my legs numb. I want to die.
PSS. I only worked at that supermarket for six months in which I quit and became a member of the staff at the local public library.
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on Monday, February 05, 2007 at 11:24 AM.
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