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I stand in the express lane of the checkout line, 16 items peering out over the edge of my basket, the stalks of all the vegetables standing erect, pushing out their chests, warding off the snotty glances of the other customers and their sad, desolate carts. Children hold single lollipops, stressed mothers cradle gallons of milk and hard-to-carry toiletries, fathers show their impatience by talking loudly on phones, mashing their fingers on the self-checkout screens.
I take my time, delicately placing each item onto the conveyor, unfolding my scroll of expired coupons and making small talk with the cashier. No, I don’t have a rewards card, but yes, I would like to fill out a form to sign up for one. Right here at this moment, if you please. No, it’s OK, I’ll wait for the manager. The patrons behind me slam down their salsas, Enquirers and packs of gum, crane their necks in search of openings in neighboring lanes, praying for the numbered light of another cashier to illuminate... To read the full piece, buy a copy of issue #1 - available in the shop now. Comments are closed.
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