I was in the check-out line the other day at Weaver Street, buying gluten-free this and that, and the guy working the register is this Goth-looking kid with really black, long hair and really white skin. Nice guy, though, who I once bonded with as we both share a love of limeade. This day, though, he was chit-chatting with the guy in front of me, whose wife, apparently, had recently died. I didn't actually hear him say those words, but he was saying, "Yeah, she's been gone a month..." and "Coming here makes me think of her." The Goth-kid was visibly struck by the customer's news, and, as he continued to scan the groceries, said in an authentic, sombre, earnest tone, "Gosh, that's terrible. I am really sorry to hear that. That must be so hard."
"Yeah, I thought you should know, because you used to see us here together all the time and stuff. Yeah...well."
And I, standing behind listening to the whole thing, knew exactly how each of them felt: The customer, feeling the need to tell someone he encountered several times a week, someone who he's not close to, who wouldn't otherwise know, that his wife died. And the clerk who's used to commenting on people's limeade rather than how it must feel to lose the love of your life, and how awkward the whole exchange was.
But the juxtoposition that I just can't get out of my head, the juxtoposition between the extraordinary and the mundane, came when the Goth-clerk, fully aware of how trivial it sounded coming out of his mouth said, "I know this sounds kind of weird right now, but, do you want paper or plastic?"
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There's another cashier there who talks my ear off every time I check out through his line. He'll talk about anything...and I mean ANYTHING. I have a hard time getting away from him when I've finished checking out because he keeps talking. I don't think it's the same guy you are talking about because he's not very Goth-y.
And then the other day I was at Bunkey's Carwash in Cary, and the guy inside at the cash register told me this l-o-n-g story about how back in '93 his brand new Mustag almost got stolen right in front of his face, and it was going on and on and the guys who has actually washed my car beeped my horn, on three separate occasions, to let me know, "Hey, Lady, your car is ready."
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