Checking Out

Supermarket Tale

Summer 2010, Kasey Klein

 

Checking Out

I recently got a new job, same company. I'm a stock person in a major supermarket. Now, as time permits, I'm a cashier. Many people asked how I was roped into such a thing. I shrugged. I signed up, for many reasons.

 

Yesterday, after throwing stock in dairy for six hours, I signed into a register for two hours. A family came through, big order. The girl -- ages are difficult to judge -- maybe seven-years old, wanted a sticker, the paid stickers we put on things. “Let me see the back of your hand,” I asked with a nod.

 

She showed me. I stickered her, much to her delight, then the other hand, for her brother.

 

She stickered her brother, giggles around. I finished the sale, bidding the family goodbye.

 

Again, ages. The next customer, a man much closer my fifty-six years than the girl's seven years, smiled. “I'm glad I had to leave the house today.” He nodded toward the departing family. “So easy to forget the innocence around us.”

 

I rung up his couple things, giving him the total. “Yeah, huh? The joy of simple pleasures.” I passed his change and receipt. “Oh! Did you want a sticker, too?”

 

He smiled, holding his hand forward. “Could I?”

 

I stickered him.

Reviews

[Chris]

Reminds me of... me.

[TerryAnn]

Your writing always makes me laugh while soothing me, thank you.

[Peter Joseph Swanson]

ha ha - good one