Monday, October 5, 2015
-- is how it starts. A quick check-in, over jogging pants.
"No you ain't. You sound like shit. And you don't look good either."
One woman loads the check-out conveyor, the other is on the way out. The cashier smiles at the rest of us, waiting behind - with nothing to do, but read how Hilary has brain cancer & Trump has the model family. The one already done, finally draws the stretchy top of her pants up a bit, and saunters out - two white plastic bags swinging at her knees.
"You two best friends?" the cashier, obviously, has not had enough - or realizes small talk is customer service, but only to the one currently unloading 57 items, one at a time.
I have chips & salsa.
"No. Not no more. Maybe once."
She looks back at us, at the cashier, at us again, then whispers,"There was this one time -- I was on the porch with my kid and she pulls up. My boy goes running over, and she's like 'Uh, uh.' and I'm like 'What's up?' and she says 'I got no pants on.' I mean, what the heck?"
She takes a breath. The Cashier smiles, eyes wide. She swipes food items as fast as the little red eye will let her.
"So I go grab my boy before he can step up on the side rails and take him in the house. I come back out and go to the truck, and yeah, she got no pants on. She tells me she been making money. How are you making money with your pants off?"
This is a rhetorical question. The cashier realized this, hits the total button. The lady swipes a card, pushes a few buttons.
Finished she leads across and cups hands to her mouth, and goes even quieter. This time it really is a whisper. The cashiers jaw slackens. Her skin whitens a bit.
"Yeah, darlin'. So we ain't friends no more. I try to avoid her ass if I see it coming," she winks&wheels her cart out the automatic doors.
My chips& salsa ride the conveyor, sit for a moment at the end.
"You alright?" I ask.
"Yeah," she shakes her head, rings them up.
"There's just some things you can't un-know huh?"
"Have a good night."
"You too, sir. Come back again soon."
In the parking lot, sweat pants #2 loads 57 items into the trunk of her car, in 8 white bags.
"I'm sorry if you heard all that. Sometimes, you just got ---"
"I'm alright. Good night."
"Goodnight honey," she says through the window, as the engine starts.