In the treacherous world of grocery store checkout lines, a shopper discovers that no amount of planning can protect him from the hidden dangers of trying to choose the shortest route home.

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Patience Pays… Eventually

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When it came to grocery shopping, Walter knew there were two kinds of people in the world. Those who chose a grocery-store checkout line after careful observation, and those who wandered into a checkout line like cattle entering a chute.
    Walter was not cattle.
    He stood at the edge of the checkout lanes with both hands resting on his cart and studied the possibilities. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Wheels squeaked across the tile. Somewhere near a row of standalone soft drink coolers, a machine gave a tired electronic beep.
    He looked at the row of ten checkout lanes at the front of the store. Of the ten, four of them had a light above the lane that said “Register Closed.” He looked at the lane nearest to him, Lane Three. It had four customers, but two of them were carrying baskets with only a few items in each. Lane Five had only two customers, but one of them had a cart filled with enough canned goods to survive a siege. Walter thought Lane Seven appeared promising until he noticed the cashier was moving with the slow indifference of a person who really hated her job.
    Lane Four was the obvious choice. Only one woman stood ahead of him. Her cart was not particularly full. Her groceries appeared ordinary. Milk. Bread. Cat food. A plastic container of sliced watermelon. A box of cookies, and several frozen dinners. Walter estimated that the transaction would take three minutes and twenty seconds, four minutes tops.
    He eased into place in Lane Four and allowed himself a small, private smile as he waited for the transaction ahead to be completed.
    The cashier scanned the milk.
    Beep.
    She scanned the bread.
    Beep.
    Then she picked up the plastic container of sliced watermelon.
    She turned it over and looked at the bottom.
    She turned it again and looked at the label that sealed the container closed.
    Shaking her head and looking somewhat confused, she said, “There’s no barcode sticker.”
    The woman frowned. “I was sure there was one when I picked it up.”
    The cashier examined the container as if the barcode might be hiding inside the container beneath the fruit.
    She reached for the intercom phone and called for assistance.
    Walter watched customers moving through Lane Three.
    He saw movement in Lane Five as well.
    A young employee arrived and carried the watermelon away to locate a price.
    While they waited for the young employee to return, the cashier continued to scan the other items the woman had placed on the conveyor.
    The woman watched and then opened her purse and removed a thick envelope. “I have these coupons for the cat food, and the cookies,” she said.
    Walter felt the first chill of betrayal.
    The cashier began sorting them.
    “This one for the cat food expired last month.”
    “They should still honor it.”
    “I’m afraid they don’t.”
    “They used to.”
    “This one for the cookies is for two boxes.”
    “I bought two.”
    “You bought one.”
    “Maybe you missed the scan. Maybe it is in one of the bags already,” the lady said as she looked at the bagger at the end of the lane.
    The bagger started looking in the bags to see if he could find two boxes of cookies. There was no second box.
    The employee checking the watermelon had still not returned.
    Walter looked toward Lane Six. Only one customer waited there.
    He made his decision.
    “Excuse me,” he said, backing his cart away.
    The woman standing in front of him in Lane Four did not hear him. She was explaining that a grocery store in Athens sold the same cat food for forty cents less.
    The cashier just shrugged her shoulders. She was thinking that she wished the woman had gone to that store instead, but she made no reply.
    Walter reached Lane Six before anyone else could claim it.
    The woman in front of him had only six items. She was already talking to the cashier, who was taking her time scanning the woman’s items as they talked.
    “How is your mother?” she asked.
    “She’s doing better.”
    “And your sister?”
    “She moved back home.”
    “I heard about that. What happened with her husband?”
    The cashier glanced at Walter. Her expression carried no apology.
    The woman leaned closer.
    “I always said he was no good.”
    Walter watched Lane Four begin moving again. The watermelon had returned. The coupons had been defeated. The Athens price match had apparently been surrendered.
    He had abandoned claiming any victory in Lane Six.
    A cashier waved. “I can take someone over here.” Lane Two was open and empty.
    Walter turned his cart so fast that a bag of potatoes shifted violently against the cereal.
    He arrived just as a thin man stepped ahead of him carrying a small basket with a couple of grocery items... and a jar filled with coins.
    Walter stared at the jar.
    The man placed a loaf of bread and a package of bologna on the counter.
    Then he unscrewed the lid on the jar of coins.
    The sound of coins pouring onto the counter resembled gravel spilling from a dump truck.
    “Mostly pennies,” the man said.
    The cashier began counting.
    Walter closed his eyes.
    He could hear other registers operating efficiently around him. Scanners beeped. Bags rustled. Receipts printed. Civilization continued without him.
    He changed lines again.
    This time he chose Lane Eight.
    A woman stood at the register with three items. The cashier had already scanned two of them.
    Walter nearly laughed with relief.
    The woman suddenly slapped both hands against the sides of her face.
    “I forgot the sour cream.”
    The cashier looked toward the dairy aisle.
    “I’ll be right back,” the woman said.
    She sprinted away.
    Walter watched her disappear past the produce section.
    The cashier waited.
    Walter waited.
    The frozen peas in his cart began to soften.
    A minute passed. Then two.
    The woman returned carrying a white plastic container.
    “This isn’t sour cream,” the cashier said. ”It’s cottage cheese. These containers look exactly the same.”
    The woman looked confused. She looked at the container, then she looked at Walter. “I’m sorry, it’ll only take me a minute,” she said as she ran away again.
    Walter gripped the handle of his cart until his knuckles whitened.
    He would not move.
    That was what the store wanted. It wanted him confused. It wanted him frightened. It wanted him roaming between registers while strangers bought their groceries and went home to their families.
    He remained in Lane Eight.
    The woman returned with sour cream. Her card was declined twice. She tried another card. Then she remembered she had cash.
    At last, she had been checked out and left the lane.
    Walter stood perfectly still. He had finally made it.
    The cashier did not look at him.
    Walter started to push his cart forward.
    Behind him were two other customers. He felt their envy. He had survived. He had endured every trap the universe had placed before him.
    The cashier reached beneath the counter and flipped a switch.
    Walter smiled.
    She placed a small sign on the conveyor belt, looked up at Walter, and pointed to the light above her register.
    Register Closed.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s time for my break.”
    For several seconds, Walter said nothing.
    Then he turned toward the other lanes.
    Lane Four was empty.
    Lane Six was empty.
    Lane Two was empty.
    The cashiers stood waiting for customers.
    Walter looked down at his cart.
    The cantaloupe rolled gently against the milk.
    He pushed the cart toward Lane Four with the solemn dignity of a defeated general returning from war.
    Before he reached it, a family of seven stepped in front of him with two overflowing carts and a binder labeled COUPONS.
 

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