It was Wednesday, it was warm in Baltimore, and I needed some groceries and prescriptions. I got the Rx'es just fine, but when I went to pay for the food, things went down the disposal.
The young male cashier roused himself from his daze so he could tell me the total: $31.35.
I said fine, here's what I'm going to do. I gave him a 50, a one, a quarter and a dime. He looked as if I had tried to pay with ancient pieces of eight from a treasure chest, so I tried to coach him, saying, just enter the amount I gave you and see how it comes out.
Next thing I know, he's digging in the drawer for a ton of change. I said there should be no coins involved here; you owe me twenty flat.
"But I forgot to ring up the dime, so your change is $19.90 because I can't go back and add it in."
I looked at him with disbelief. He wasn't arrogant or anything, just monumentally unconcerned with doing his job.
I said, "Take that dime out of your hand. Put it in the drawer along with all that change you were trying to give me. Hand me a twenty-dollar bill. Then you're square and I'm square and we can all go on with our lives."
He did just that. Now I have to see a chiropractor because my neck hurts from all this headshaking.
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