"Good evening, sir. You certainly do have broad, manly shoulders."
I looked up from the Star Trek Collectible Special Edition of TV Guide.
("Cover #6 of 15. Collect them all!") The supermarket checker was
smiling broadly as she ran my orange juice over the scanner.
"Ah. Thanks," I said.
"My pleasure. Our deli has a wide selection of ready-cooked meals,
but I've never seen a dish like you."
Normally I would be flattered, but it had been a long day and I
hadn't been able to find the crackers I wanted, so I wasn't really
in the mood. I was considering being flattered nonetheless when
I heard a suggestive voice saying "It must be jelly, 'cause 100%
fat-free Lean Choice brand fruit preserves don't shake like that."
I looked behind me. The voice had come from the checkout person in
the line next to me, and he was talking to a middle-aged woman with
three children who had the confused look of someone who had just been
elected Prime Minister of a country she had never heard of.
"Why is everyone throwing around bad pick-up lines?" I asked.
"Company policy," replied the checkout lady. "In order to provide a
more pleasant and personal grocery-shopping experience, all checkout
personnel are required to flirt with the customers. Stud."
"Oh," I replied, punching in my ATM code. "Can you not do that?"
"Sorry. Company policy requires me to inform you that you can mist my
"Nice basket," said the bag boy.
I had had enough, but my groceries were packed, so I decided to
just get the hell out. "Thanks. I can get it to the car myself."
"All right, you throbbing wad of cost-conscious virility. Look me up
if you're ever in the market, Mr..." she peered at my receipt.
"SHOW-berg," I corrected. "Bye!"