I got to the front of the line, with many people heaving and pushing behind me. The woman in front of me had a drippy nostril, spreading down over her upper lip, but had finished signing things, and she performed two more sneezes before leaving. Good-day said the cashier.
I'd been told, as a senior who had nothing better to do -- while important purchases were to be made elsewhere for coats, leather gloves, winter boots, slippers, stockings, scarves and perfumes, to pick up groceries at that famous high quality Trainee Tom store -- I think it was -- I can never remember names but I knew it had Ts in it -- that sold everything, and that they had recommended, because this was the day of T.T.'s one-day sale with extreme mark-downs.
The pleasant young cashier said: cash or credit sir?
I'd bought an awful lot, but it wasn't at that moment beside me. More than enough to fit into a big stuck-wheel shopping cart, or even three carts. Before answering him he had asked, would you like our store card, 15% of all purchases untilo March? No thanks, I said. It's a very easy form he said; here, I'll start you off. Date of birth?
Date of birth? Did I really want to confess I was 99? There were people on both sides of me now, trying to get his attention, and they might laugh. To me he said: Press hard, for the carbon copies.
No, I have my own pen I said. I didn't care to use the pen I'd seen the sneezing woman use. Fumbling in the wrong pocket and expecting the crowd behind me to explode with impatience, I found it -- and strangely, the crowd was quiet. Three or four rows behind me I'd seen someone we knew well, whose name I always forgot, despite my apologetically asking her husband at a concert a week earlier.
This was a general purpose high-quality store, and aside from the groceries on my list I'd also found men's socks, thick ones -- 90% off, or 10 pairs for a dollar. And that Christmas cake wasn't on the list they'd given me, but I love fruit cakes, and it was on sale now, down from its original $500. I couldn't believe I'd bought that, plus the newest Fit-Bit-wristwatch-telephone, but now I was being pushed against the counter from behind and the cashier was asking me for my driver's license. My age would be on that, no problem. Don't worry about the intermediate details of the form, he said, just put in your name at the top and sign -- there, signature, down at the bottom.
The phalanx behind me was still quiet. Yes, the person or persons still pushed against me, but they were warm -- and it was a pretty cold day. Helpfully the cashier pointed to my triplicate form once more, which listed, magically, all my purchases so far, and said: date 12/22/16. The form already had the information that I'd entered the store at 10:17 a.m. and had bought 27 items -- computers knew everything. But it didn't give the name of the person back in the third row; a "B", I knew it started with a "B".
I needed to go to the bathroom. But if I left my place in the line -- was online really better than inline? -- I'd never get back to meet the others on time. So how much is it I asked, and responding to his earlier question, cash I said. I knew I had two $100 bills in my wallet, so I was OK.
$2,300 he said. Really? But I needed to go to the bathroom, so 'credit card' I offered quickly.
We can't use this sir. Our store doesn't use this type of card he said pleasantly, pointing to a sign at the edge of the counter. But surely that could be publicised at the entrance, before shopping? I asked.
Sorry sir -- It Can't Be Done. That ubiquitous phrase -- It Can't Be Done. As bad as those other most-hated words in the English language, like WHATEVER. It can't be done.
I couldn't wait any longer. I was bursting. I threw back the covers and ran to the bathroom, relieved that none of it was true, that I wouldn't have to find $2300, nor fill out the triplicate forms, nor catch the flu from the sneezer, nor explain to the crowd pushing from behind that I wasn't 99, nor struggle with Mrs Whats-er-name's name -- nor even explain the three lost shopping carts.
Ah. In all aspects, a huge relief.
Dr. David Nightingale is Professor Emeritus of Physics at the State University of New York at NewPaltz and is the co-author of the text, A Short Course in General Relativity.
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