I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
April 6, 2010
>I’m pretty sure there’s at least one in every supermarket…
A cashier who feels compelled to make comments about your purchases.
Whether you’re buying anchovies for a Caesar Salad or ginger root for your upcoming Asian fusion gourmet dinner, you can trust that this particular cashier will have something to say about it.
Something negative.
“You like avocados?” mine squeals as the admittedly ugly green fruit comes tumbling down the belt. “I could never eat those. They’re like green slime.”
“Uh, okay,” I say, wincing. Suddenly, the avocado sushi rolls I’d planned for lunch don’t seem quite so appetizing.
“Mussels?” she asks in disbelief the next week. “Yuck! I had an oyster once and it tasted like snot.”
“Appetizing!” I reply. But the woman is unfazed.
“Boy, you sure have a lot of frozen food this time!” she laughs on another occasion. “I thought this stuff was supposed to be bad for you…”
“My day isn’t complete unless I’ve fed the kids junk,” I say, frowning. But my cashier never takes the hint.
At least until recently.
“I don’t know how you can eat this,” she said this past week, examining an enormous pot roast wrapped in cellophane. “Eww! It’s all bloody! It’s disgusting!”
I thought for a moment. Pot roast wasn’t on my menu for the week, but it had been on sale, so I’d picked one up. But I didn’t really need it.
“You know what?” I said. “It is disgusting. I don’t want it.”
She stopped scanning and looked at me sharply.
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t mean-“
“No, you were absolutely right,” I said brightly. “Thank you so much for bringing it to my attention. I mean, why on earth would I want to buy anything that’s disgusting? You can take it off my bill. I don’t want it.”
“Are you sure?” she said, glancing uneasily at the cashiers on either side of her. “I mean, uh, this could be a nice, juicy dinner for your family…”
I laughed. “Look,” I said, “You work here. If you say something’s disgusting, I’m going to take your word for it!”
I paid and left, my head held high. I may have been short a pot roast, but dammit, my supermarket dignity remained intact.
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