Gary, your little Costco story reminds me of a recent run in at the Wrigleyville Jewels, where nearly every aisle has been converted to do-it-yourself. (It's one way to cut down on labor costs, though they still have to pay someone to roll back odometers on the meats and vegetables, I suppose.)
I stepped into one of two very clearly defined, parallel adjacent lines, each leading to a discrete do-it-yourself register. I don't mind telling you, Gary, that I'm pretty good at picking the fast line, whether I'm driving down Ashland or checking out at Costco. It's a gift, and I credit God.
I picked the fast line, as usual. It was
not the line with the woman of a certain age who looked like Kirstie Alley. Nothing wrong with Kirstie Alley, but I could see that the lady was going for Sex in the City or Desperate Housewives. Yet Fate gave her Fat Actress on her best day. And I think she knew it, especially after I called her Kirstie. But I'm getting ahead of myself, Gary. I had to earn the right to say "Goodbye, Kirstie," on my way out the Jewels.
She had on a bright orange poncho, designer jeans and red heels. Lots of eye makeup too. A little crazy looking, that mascara and eyeshadow, and those darting eyes.
Anyways, when my turn came up, I stepped to the machine.
Kirstie yells, "Excuuuse me, I was in line." Gary, you know that I'm nothing if not a gentleman. And I am reasonably afraid of off-kilter Kirstie Alley types as well. I waive her on. The fellow behind her says, loudly, "she wasn't in your line," and lets me take Kirstie's place, which by now has become the on-deck circle for machine #2. An honor, a responsibility, and a challenge is how I saw the patronage.
Machine #2 opens up. I have a pretty full cart, more stuff than Kirstie for sure. But I have fans rooting for me, people that I don't want to let down in the line behind me. I am their champion. I'm in the Zone, just me, my groceries, and an automated grocery clerk. Like Mario Andretti, I make la macchina an extension of my will. A symphony of fluid movement, electronic beeps, and swishing plastic bags ensues.
As you guessed, Gary, I walked out with neatly bagged and paid-for groceries while Kirstie was fumbling about and calling, unrequitedly, to no one in particular for help with the machine.
Last edited by
JeffB on November 3rd, 2005, 11:05 am, edited 1 time in total.