I’m at Kroger flipping through a trashy tabloid I’d never be caught buying but love to read. There’s an untouched photo of a Hollywood starlet in a bikini on the front cover. A black rectangle covers her eyes and her identity. Above her a headline screams, “Who is this?”
I have no idea! That’s why I’m searching frantically to find the answer before it’s my turn to check out.
“Aisle 11 is open.” A Kroger manager directs me to an open line to get me through the line faster.
Sheepishly I return the magazine to the rack. I push my cart to the aisle to find a closed sign prompted on the conveyer belt.
“This last one and then you can go,” she promises to the clerk.
“Are you trying to get out of here? Shift almost over?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sort of,” he says.
“So let’s get you out of here.”
I clap my hands enthusiastically and move to the back to start bagging. We don’t need no stinking bagger. Together, we finish my order in a matter of minutes.