Kool Kid

I sure was a grocery clerk, way back in the day. Peggy loves to hear me tell what the price of a gallon of milk, 5 lbs. of sugar, or a bottle of ReaLemon was when Nixon was president and I worked for the Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Co. (the real name of the A&P chain, which is now called SuperFresh around here.)

You might have read the short story "A & P" by John Updike (http://www.tiger-town.com/whatnot/updike/). While Updike is both a fine writer of great renown and, along with Norman Mailer and John Irving, one of Tom Wolfe's three great enemies, I doubt that he ever worked at an A&P. He doesn't have the sense of purpose that came along with the hallowed red apron and name tag, from what I gather. But he did all right in his field, so perhaps a lifetime of Eight O'Clock Coffee, Jane Parker Spanish Bar Cake and Ann Page Fancy Salad Mustard was not for him.

Today I stopped at another supermarket for rolls and bananas. I had been at the bank, where the manager told me last week I needed a copy of a certain document to perform a certain transaction (which I can't discuss here; it's a matter of national security.) So I ankle in there today, and the manager is on vacation, and Miss Hathaway tells me that a copy won't do; she needs the original. And so the dance begins, before the NorthEast Baltimore area vice president in charge of the NorthEast Baltimore area finally rules, in a landmark decision, that I can have my $442.80. I parade down to the supermarket, and here is a verbatim transcript of what the (20-year-old, maybe) cashier said to me:

She: How are you today, sir?

I: Well, to tell you the truth, I am hot!

She: So am I, but I'm not bragging about it!

I: (uncontrollable paroxysm of laughter)

then

She: $5.56, please!

I: Here's a 5, and I thought I had two quarters in here....wait a minute...hold on

She: I took them out of your pocket while you were sleeping!

I: You are delightful; has anyone ever told you that?
She: You wanna buy me dinner? I mean, seeing as how you have five dollars and all...

Do you love it? I've been on that side of a cash register (when things got real busy, I stopped marking prices on cans of Vienna sausage with der kerplunker and took over a register, where I spent some time on the front lines of pure capitalism: separating people from their money in exchange for goods) and, while I would always try to chat amiably with customers, I was never so cool as to actually engage in an entire comic routine with a cooperative straight man (uh, me! in this case.) She was funny without forcing it, slightly impertinent without being impudent, and, altogether the perfect remedy for an afternoon of almost-100-degree temperatures and the officious assistant manager of the bank branch just an egg custard snowball's throw from the supermarket (and wouldn't I love to...)

Young Ms. Ashley, I wish you a thousand years of brightening the days of others, I wish that the world and its carborundum ways will never dull your razor wit, and I hope you know I thank you for the smiles.