They said to be at their place by six. Or earlier. Just bring the four things on the list.
I run into the grocery store on my way there. I don’t need a shopping cart. I take a green plastic basket with black handles as I enter the store. I only need four things: a jar of minced garlic, five pounds of russet potatoes, a quart of heavy cream, and a tin of sardines. That’s it and I’m out of here. I zigzag through a maze of bad grocery cart drivers and head to check out. The express lane has only two people ahead of me. In and out I think. I empty my items onto the conveyor belt. I look up. Should I add some Tic Tacs, maybe orange ones, white ones, hmmm no blue, skip that.
The line isn’t moving. I look toward the first person in line. A tall guy in a dark blue blazer and crisp white dress shirt, no tie. He has his card out ready to pay. He already has one plastic bag stuffed with items but he’s buying more things. Jars of pasta sauce, a loaf of store baked Italian bread, regular Cheerios, Honey Nut Cheerios, lots of soap, 6,7,9, wow…he must have, let’s see, maybe 20, no 23 items…not counting what’s in the bag already. I look up to make sure I am in the right lane. A rectangular sign, illuminated even, hangs above the cash register. It reads “EXPRESS LANE -10 items or less.” Not MORE, I mumble to myself. “Why doesn’t the cashier say something?” I think as she methodically scans the items.
I look to see if anyone else is upset about this. There are two people behind me who just arrived in line, so they are not yet aware that they should be annoyed. The face of the woman in front of me is hidden from view. She is short and encased in a full-length olive green parka with a dirty grey fur collar and hood. I look at the time. I look back up at the Tic Tacs. Maybe a candy bar. Maybe People magazine. Still no movement. He is up to three bags of groceries. I look behind me. There are now six people in line, but they are staring at their phones, maybe they are relaying their disgust and impatience to friends and family. Finally I hear someone yell, “What’s the hold up?” but for some reason everyone raises their heads and looks at me.
The guy in the blue blazer finally leaves, first glancing back and giving me a dirty look. Thank goodness the parka woman only has three things: a pint of orange juice, a loaf of white bread, and a bag of glazed donuts. The total comes to $6.11. There is a long pause before she plops her handbag on the counter and rummages through it for a wallet. She pulls out a $5.00 bill and a $1.00 bill and then counts them out to the cashier. I am getting antsy. She returns to hunting through her handbag and pulls out a blue beaded change purse. She makes a grunting sound of effort as her frail fingers open the clasp on the purse. “Eleven cents?” she asks to confirm. The cashier nods. She starts counting out pennies one by one.
I reach in my pocket and grab a quarter that I throw on the counter. She picks it up and turns to me, placing it back in my hand, “Thank you so much, but I prefer to give exact change.” She smiles at me as if I was trying to be nice instead of just attempting to get this over with. Finally she finishes and toddles off to the exit.
I shove my payment in the cashier’s hand before she is ready to take it, and then I dash off, passing the parka woman on the way. I toss the bag on the front seat of my car and then notice something under my wiper blade on the windshield.
“What now!” I mutter as I pop out of the car. A ticket for parking in a handicapped space. I pound my fist on the steering wheel. If only that guy hadn’t been in the express lane I wouldn’t have got this ticket. I floor the gas, almost running over the parka lady in the parking lot. I look at the time – 6:15. I am late. Well, not really. I am positive they told me to be there by 6:30, or even a little later is okay.
Jeff Jacobs is a native of Princeton and lives in Hamilton Township with his one wife, two children and three cats. His novel, “Darkness Descends On Princeton,” is a murder mystery set in 1930’s Princeton.
