RandomPokesLife in the Fast LaneSteve Dennie
I'm holding a six-pack of bagels and some chocolate chip ice cream, and I'm mad. Maybe not mad, but at least very irritated. I'm standing in the express line--"10 Items or Less," the sign says plain as day. And this lady in front of me has a cart that I know holds more than 10 items.
It's kind of hard for me to see around her--she's wearing a bulky coat and the check-out lane is very narrow. But I can see a bunch of hotdog-bun bags cluttering her cart--gotta be at least ten of them!--and two big bottles of catsup. Who knows what else lurks beneath those bags. Probably a dozen small items.
Normally, I'm very tolerant and patient. I don't get upset easily. But this is going too far.
I believe strongly in the sanctity of the express line. I don't even violate the spirit of the express lane. If I'm buying seven or eight things, I might use a regular line. To me, it's for moms when they're whipping up some baked delicacy and suddenly discover they're one egg short. Or when a family is expecting company in ten minutes and needs a liter of Pepsi.
It is not for people who are doing their regular shopping.
And it's certainly not for this lady in front of me.
The express line serves a valuable role in American society. It becomes worthless when people--like this lady--get in line with an over-the-limit amount of food. And what really gripes me is that checkers don't enforce the rules. Unless it's a heaping cartful, the checker will go ahead and ring it up rather than cause a stink by telling the customer to choose another line. If you want to be the ultimate nerd by using the express line with 15 items, you'll get away with it.
I'm sure this lady in front of me realizes that. She is willfully ignoring the rules just so she can save a little time. Probably does it habitually.
I'm funny about lines. I don't like to be kept waiting, so I try my hardest not to make others wait. When I buy something, I make sure it has a price tag, so the checker doesn't have to send someone scurrying through the aisles trying to figure out where in the world I got that sack of pretzels.
If I want something, but none of the items on the shelf have a price tag, I'll skip it. I simply will not invoke the silent wrath of five impatient people behind me. And I severely dislike being one of those five wrathful people.
Another thing that irks me is when someone waits until hearing the price to start looking for the checkbook. When I'm paying by check, I fill out everything except the amount--and then I might write in the dollar amount, leaving just the cents figure. That's the civil thing to do.
And I'm just getting started.
There's bank teller windows. Some people wait until reaching the window to complete the deposit slip, and then, after the teller is done, they stay parked right there for five minutes to make sure all's well. I get everything ready long before reaching the window, and as soon as I receive my deposit slip or money, I pull ahead.
I have similar feelings about fast-food drive-ups. Some people seemingly use the drive-up window to order a meal for family reunions. I think Congress should pass a law setting a limit on how much you can order from the drive-up window. Two hamburgers, fries, a medium drink, and an apple turnover--that should be the limit. If you want more, go inside.
As you can tell, I carry some heavy-duty hang-ups.
Now, I'm in a hurry, and this rude, inconsiderate woman is violating international law. Any civilized person with even the most rudimentary semblance of sophistication would respect a sign which says "10 Items or Less." Which leads me to several assumptions about this woman. I haven't seen her face yet, but I've seen her kind. I can guess what she's like.
Underneath that bulky coat, she's wearing shabby clothes and a perpetual pout. A closed-mouth smirk and rolling eyes display her impatience with the line's snailpace. A dirty-faced toddler awaits in a rusty '67 Ford stationwagon. She spends her days watching soap operas in a dirty living room and trading gripes with friends over the phone. When the cashier rings up the total, she'll question it--"That can't be right." Not the type of person I normally associate with.
It's her turn now.
"Hi," she says cheerfully to the checkout girl.
Hmmm. I figured her for the grumpy type.
She starts putting the hot-dog buns on the counter, and the check-out girl counts them.
"There should be ten bags," the lady says, trying to be helpful.
In addition to the hotdog buns, there are two bags of hamburger buns, the catsup, and several odds and ends. After placing everything on the counter, the lady turns sideways to face the check-out girl. That's when I see her face for the first time.
She's not what I envisioned. Actually, she's quite pretty and smiles with genuine friendliness. She looks like a nice, middle-class, well-mannered person--the type I do normally associate with.
"That will be $17.31," the checkout girl says.
The lady locates her checkbook deep in her purse, and begins filling it out. She has beautiful handwriting. I excuse her for not having it all ready.
"It looks like snow is on the way," she says to the checker as she writes.
"I wouldn't doubt it."
"We bought our eight-year-old a new sled, and he keeps asking when it's going to snow. He's real anxious about it." She pauses while signing her name with an artistic flourish. "I'm on my way now to pick him up from his piano lesson."
I like mothers who give kids piano lessons. Mine did.
She gently tears out the check and, with a sweet smile, gives it to the girl.
Now that I see her face and have heard her talk, I'm having trouble being righteously indignant. Except for using the express line when she had no business doing so, she seems to be my type of person--articulate, well-mannered, pretty, middle-classish. Probably even a Christian. All nice people are suspected Christians.
I wonder--what if she had fit my mental image? What if she had had a fat face, scraggly hair, two prominent moles, a crooked nose, and a mad-at-the-world smirk? I would have thought, Figures! And I wouldn't have forgiven her for snubbing the rules, let alone for not having her checkbook ready.
She picks up her two grocery sacks. "Have a nice evening," she tells the checkout girl, and heads for the door.
My convictions about express lines are strong as ever, but I opt for leniency in this case.
Bigotry is alive and well and writing Christian books.
Copyright 2005 Steve Dennie |
