The Fast Lane

So there’s been something that has been bothering me for awhile now.
I grocery shop once a week and I usually have an overflowing cart. By the time I’m done shopping, I’m too lazy to walk further than the first real checkout, just past the U-scans and the express lines.
At least once a month, the very nice lady who works the express line, just next to my line, tells me to come over to the express line to be checked out. I don’t really want to because 1. The belt is ½ the length of the regular checkout and can, therefore, only hold ¼ of my groceries at a time, and 2. Without fail, someone with 2 items in their cart will come up behind me and wait patiently as Shirley checks out my 45 items.
It happened again yesterday. I had Brady and Sully with me and I had to keep stopping putting my items on the mini-belt to put the kids back on the bench or answer their questions or tell them that no, I wasn’t buying anything else because I already had $15 in extra crap in my cart. And while we’re on the subject, I really need to stop buying my kids pretty much anything they ask for, but seriously, it makes for a peaceful shopping trip.
So as I was trying to keep the children contained and occupied and put my 45 items on the belt, a crabby old man came up behind me. He stood there patiently, but I could feel the daggers in my back. I really wanted to tell him that I’m not an asshole and that I can count…but I didn’t. Too shy? Too embarrassed? I don’t know.
So for the record, and in case the crabby old man reads my blog, I am not an asshole and I can count. I’m just not assertive enough to tell helpful Shirley that I don’t want to get in her line or to inform the people behind me that I’m there against my will. The solution? I’m planning on walking to the check-out lane the furthest from the express lane from now on. That’s how I roll.

About jillo31

I always wanted to write the great American novel. I've come to the realization that that may not happen. Instead, I'm going to write about my life as a working mom to three boys. I figure in ten years, I won't remember what these days are like. I want to record my everyday victories and struggles.
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