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Monday, April 8, 2019

Adventures in Retail

It's long been established that I visit a certain big box store in the middle of the night.  It's one of the very few options on my schedule.

At that time of day, or night, the self service check outs are the only ones open.  There is usually one employee there monitoring the activity.

I was doing my thing on a recent morning...  Gatorade, ramen soup, a USB charging cable, diet Pepsi.  For some reason, the check out monitor was watching me like I was Dillinger.  She moved from her monitoring location until she was nearly right over my shoulder, making sure I put each and every item over the scanner, and it made me uncomfortable.

I will be the first to admit that I didn't look like I was the Chamber of Commerce president.  I was still flushed from a gym workout and damp from the shower.  I hadn't touched a razor in a couple of days.  Untucked shirt.  Jeans.  Sneakers.  I guess I fit the profile.

Do I really look that shady?

Fast forward several hours.  Different store.  A warehouse club.  A couple cases of water and a case of juice.  The self service check out was a breeze, with no one breathing down my neck.  As I was completing the transaction, an employee said there will be someone in the parking lot if I needed help loading the stuff in to my car.

Really?  I know my hair is mostly grey now, and I might look a little older than my actual age.  I've been sick lately, a little pale.  But did I really look like I needed help getting a case of water from my cart to the car?  How did I get it off the pallet and in to my cart in the first place?

I thanked the woman for her concern, and loaded the stuff in to the car without incident.