The Impatient Guy
There was this impatient guy ahead of me at the grocery store the other day. I know he was impatient because of the exhausted and irritated sighing and moaning he was doing as the woman ahead of him used cash and coins to pay for her lettuce or whatever the hell she was buying.
He was leaning on the conveyor belt shaking his head. Looking at the lady. Looking at the cashier. Looking at me. Looking for someone to look at him. And, if he was really lucky, someone to listen to him upgrade from sighs to words to describe just how fucking slow this goddamned lady is being.
I didn’t satisfy that desire. Nobody did. So he shook his head at the candy and magazines.
The lady looked at him. Looked at the cashier. Looked at me. Looked at the money. Counted the coins.
This went on for about five years. And the impatient guy plotted the murder and sighed at the candy.
This was one of those stores where you scoop things from bins into bags, then write the number on a little tag so the cashier can ring you up.
And now it was his turn.
And there was no tag on his bag of whatever the hell he was buying.
And no number.
The cashier asked him if he knew the number.
He straightened up with the posture of someone who is extremely embarrassed. He looked at the cashier. He looked at the bag. He looked at me.
And I sighed.