Shannon Costello

She was fat and wore a red winter hat. She reminded me of a student I’d had once—rather slow, but with enough attitude to make up for that. That student hated my guts. She wasn’t well-dressed—there was nothing flashy about her. She had a ton of groceries. She was in the one non-express checkout lane. I was behind her. It was a cold December evening.

She was one of those people who seem determined to micro-manage the cashier. She was following every price as an item was scanned. Every now and then she would comment.

“That cost $2.50. Y’all had a sign up.”

I had looked closely. I had way more than 12 items and there was no other line. I had thought about asking nicely. I need to be more aggressive about what I do in line—like the lady who ended up behind me. I didn’t notice her at first. I was bored of all the magazine headlines and so I picked up a Reader’s Digest and opened up to the first story that looked interesting. It was about a teen who accidentally shot himself when he was out hunting alone—without permission, naturally. I had time to skim the story to the end before the belt had moved enough for me to start unloading my groceries. I always feel pressured to get them on the belt as soon as I can. Besides, I was in a hurry. The rolls at home would be done in an hour from the time I had left home and the party was at 7. It was probably getting close to six now? I wouldn’t look at my watch. I didn’t want to look impatient.

Then I noticed the lady behind me. She had short, curly brown hair and didn’t look hostile. I noticed that she only had one item—a box of spaghetti. I offered to let her go in front of me. It would have been mean to do otherwise. Why should she wait for the other woman and me?

“I have cash. I promise,” she said, and held up the dollar bill to prove it. “One item and cash. Once I let someone go in front of me and she paid with a check. It took forever. ”

There was a pause.

“Happy Holidays,” she said, in a rush, but with a smile. I think she wanted to thank me. What is it that puts such different people in such close quarters, and yet they can brush each other aside? There I was in that narrow space with two women in front of me, the cashier, with her 4-inch, straight earrings, the two people bagging the groceries—each of us intent on our own private business.

“It’s the chicken soup that’s on sale,” the cashier said.

“Then I want to exchange these.”

The woman in front of me wasn’t smiling anymore. “This is taking too — long,” she said. She snatched her spaghetti and stepped to the customer service desk. “May I pay for this here? I have only one item—and cash.” The man assented. He looked stressed.

A second cashier came by. “I can take someone at # 4,” she said. My groceries were already unloaded. I was tempted to load them back up and follow those other people over to number four. I need to be more aggressive. Why had I put the Reader’s Digest back so soon?

Someone came by with a basket full of soup cans. The line inched on. Finally, all her groceries were bagged and in her cart. They made a huge pile, filling the cart and mounding on the top. Almost done.

“That will be $233.59.”

“You didn’t put in my coupons.”

She had a stack of them. One by one they were scanned in.

“I’m sorry. This one won’t go through. You didn’t buy this item.”

“Yes I did.”

“This coupon is for when you buy two. You only bought one.”

“No. I bought two. I bought this one and then the cinammon-raisin one.”

Two other women left the line behind me and moved to the other register.

“Let me call my supervisor.”

I discovered that I could step backwards onto the back end of my cart and not tip it, even when it was empty. I looked at the woman behind me. “It didn’t tip.” I’m not sure if she heard me. I stepped on the cart again. Was this equivalent to climbing the walls? I stepped off the cart and resisted the urge to step on again. I couldn’t sit on it, anyway. It was too narrow and hard.

“That will be $220.54.” Now we were getting somewhere. The woman pulled out a card and handed it to the cashier. A card, not a check…should go pretty quickly. I began to hope. And I would not look at my watch.

“This card is invalid.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t work. You will need to pay with something else.”

So much for hope. The discussion dragged on for a long time, only settled when a manager confirmed in no uncertain terms that the card was not valid.

“In that case I only want to buy this and this.” Out of the jammed cart she pulled out some pain killer and one other item.

“You don’t want any of these groceries?” The supervisor looked frustrated and very annoyed.

“No. Just this.”

They invalidated the old transaction and began with the newer, much smaller one. I wondered how many lived in her apartment and what they would do about food. Could there really be people in our town that didn’t have the means to buy the food they needed?

“Where’s my coat?” They had already moved her cart full of groceries over to the customer service desk. There was no coat in it. “Somebody stole my coat.” Even then she didn’t raise her voice. She mumbled it without much expression. But the fact remained that her coat was gone. Was it the boys who had packed her groceries?

She looked about her rather vacantly, confused by what was happening.

The cashier didn’t say anything.
The manager didn’t say anything.

I looked around and didn’t see a coat. I scanned the cart full of re-possessed groceries again.
I didn’t say anything.

It was a cold December evening. She was fat and wore a red winter hat. And she had no coat.

December 2004