I always have a knack for finding the one cashier at Safeway with personality. I was beginning to be disappointed with my new Safeway...all I seemed to get were slow girls with "in training" on their nametags who scrupulously (and slowly) examined each item I put on the belt before cautiously running it over the scanner.
Lately though, things have been gettin' weird over at that there Safeway. About a week ago, my friend Carly came to visit and Edy made us dinner. We had to run to get eggs (and a bottle of wine at the liquor store next door). The cashier, a guy about our age, looked at the total ($1.36), looked at me, and said without batting an eyelash, "That'll be $5.22." I smiled. "Yeah right." "Nah, come on, I need my TIP," he said. I handed him $1.50 and said, winking, "Keep the change," and took my eggs off the counter. "You better WATCH yourself," he grumbled, "or I'm gonna make you some omelettes!"
On the weekend, I had to stop in again, and I got the same cashier. I handed him my two big cloth Marks & Spencer bags to pack, as I prefer to keep the plastic to a minimum. He looked at me and shook his head, like, "ooooh, god, this girl is trouble." But, trouble as in a "we obviously both have sense of humor" kind of way. "What are you," he demanded. "Some weed-smoking, earth-saving HIPPY?" The other people in line looked a little aghast but I just laughed. "Undercover as a yuppie," I whispered. "Don't tell." "You won't save the earth, you know," he said. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." I pretended to be offended and I said, "shut up and pack my bags!" "Oh, you're gonna get it NOW," he yelled, and stuffed about 20 plastic bags into my cloth bag, and a few at my head for good measure as I ran for the door, laughing. He was bellowing "And where's my TIP?" as I made my escape.
It must be something in the Safeway brand cola, I swear, because today, I got a new cashier. Cute, gay. I was buying some fruit leathers (my favorite! on special! 10 for $3!) and he picks one up, and reads the label: "Fruit to Go! That's me on the end of my shift...a fruit to go! Ha ha!" That was his opening line.
So...what? Do I have "joke with me! I need humor!" tattooed on my forehead? I dunno how I attract these wacky folks but I love it. I'd rather have a conversation with every person I meet than go through my day not talking to anyone. It contrasts rather sharply with my first night in London, when I went to Tesco to get groceries, and asked the cashier (who was sitting on a chair and who refused to pack my bags) how she was doing. She blinked, acted like she didn't understand what I had asked, and said, "Are you American?" Ahhh, the welcome and hospitality of the English people. I'll take English Bay anyday.