Do The Hustle

Okay, so as I've said before, I don't wait until the last minute to do my Christmas shopping, I wait until the minute before the last minute to start.
That was today.
I give Carlos the lowdown that I have errands to run--errands being code for 'I'm buying your presents....I should be a spy I'm so good with codes--and that I'll be going alone. He asks where I'm going and I say, None of your business. He wants to know why I won't say and I tell him that if I said where I was going he might know what I was buying and that wasn't happening. I'm spy smart, I tell you; spy smart.
So the lip came out. He has the cutest pout.
I promised to take the cell phone with me and off I went. Now, I can't even say what stores I visited because prying Latino eyes, and all that. Suffice to say that I hit one store and found a couple of things he might like, and little something that he could give to me, even though he didn't know it. I can't wait for him to see my face when I open it!
I go stand in the line to pay. Now, I'm not one of those impatient shoppers; I know it's Christmas; I know they're busy. I don't mind waiting.
But this woman, all scarves and woolen accessories--mind you it's in the mid-sixties and sunny--is in front of me. Foot tapping. Huffing. Puffing. Harrumphing, is a better term. Yeah. Harrumph! Craning her neck to see when it's her turn; rolling her eyes when someone at the counter pulls out a checkbook.
I thrive for this.
She's tapping, harrumphing, scarving, rolling, all over the place and finally turns to me to give me one of those, Can you believe it? looks. I smile back, and her face freezes; I would have thought it would melt under so many layers, but it actually froze.
How dare I smile. How dare I be patient. It's Christmas for cryin'out loud and there are crowds and people and traffic and cars and lines. And checkbooks.
But I smile. She harrumphed again and turned away.
At the next store, I found another little somethin' somethin' for Carlos and back in line I went. Only this place makes you stand at the end of what looks to be a cattle chute. And then some Beefy Moron, and I use the word moron in the nicest possible way, directs you toward a particular register.
I get up to the front of the line, and he's lookin'at me, and lookin'at the registers, and lookin'back at me. Finally, he shouts Number 10, Number 10, sir! I swear I heard a bell ring and off I went down the chute, lookin'for Number 10.
There's a woman ahead of me at Number 10. She's buying a gift card. Now, I suppose some people like gift cards, and they do come in handy. But at this particular store, I think that buying a gift card is like saying I really don't care for you enough to spend more than five minutes shopping for you. Or it's the obligatory under-$15 gift card for the office gift exchange. Whatever. I am not a fan of the gift card. (side note: I got a gift card for my Dad, but only because the place that honors the card is in his town, and his town is 3,000 from mine.)
So she writes a check. I don't eye-roll, harrumph, or tap. I smile. She gives me that apologetic look that says she written checks in long lines all over town and almost come to fisticuffs over it. I smile back.
Then the cash register freezes. It won't accept her check. It won't print a receipt. It just won't. I'm still smiling; seriously, still smiling. The poor kid, Wendell is his name, is turning all sorts of red; sweat forms at his hairline and his eyes grow large, like the woman with the check is now holding a double-barrel shotgun instead of a Bic Clic. He's calling for help and no one is answering. Ms. Miriam,, who took the place of Beefy Moron as line guard, is chatting with a friend. Finally, Check-Writer gets Ms. Miriam's attention and she tells Wendell how to fix it.
At which point, Check-writer turns to me and says, with one of those sweet Southern lady smiles, : He doesn't even know how to cash a check!
To which I reply: It's not him, it's the computer.
From her: Well, he ought to know how to do it.
Do you? I say, with my Christmas smile.
Check-writer goes mute.
I smile more.
Happy shopping!