Six pack of Modelo, two limes, plain Dannon yogurt, and raw almonds. I'd worked over eleven hours; the idea of having a beer - one single beer - with dinner seemed appropriate. Items were rung up, debit card was swiped, and PIN was entered as songs transitioned on Pink Floyd's Animals on the iThing. The cashier's lips were moving, and I removed the headphones just in time to hear, " ... bad."
"Excuse me," I replied.
"Drinking is bad," she said earnestly with a look of sincere concern.
Not really expecting judgment from the teenage Latina, I was taken aback, with no reply in mind. After an eternal five seconds I gathered my bags and answered her condemnation. "It's not like I'm going to drink them all tonight."
Mentally, I kicked myself on the block walk home. Had I not studied improv at Upright Citizen's Brigade? In high school, wasn''t I third place in the state in "Impromptu" speaking? Alternate answers filled my mind:
- "Well if you feel that strongly about it why do you work in a place that sells beer?"
- "Yeah, it is bad, but it takes the edge off the meth."
- "So's your dye job, gurl."
But at the end of the day, it stood out. I don't need to bring down a grocery cashier or modify her behavior or question her position. I'm sort of nice guy, or at least sort of secure.
(Please. Don't let this get out.)
