Life in the Express Lane

So I stopped by the supermarket on the way home from work yesterday. We were out of dog food. Naturally, I picked up a few other seemingly random items as well.

My cart was filled with the following things:

• Big bag of Kibbles and Bits
• 12-pack of Heineken Premium Light
• 2 packages of break-and-bake cookies (don't judge me, she's still pregnant).
• 1 bag of Tostitos Yellow Corn chips. (because I have more salsa than chips right now).
• One impulsively-purchased NY Times bestseller. (to have reading material for the hospital).

I did some quick math. 6 items. Woo-hoo. Express lane.

As I waited in a line that was 3-deep, the old lady in front of me began to slowly move her items to the counter. She had some non-descript foodstuff and a jug of apple juice. I watched her closely as she lifted the apple juice, just in case this caused her to collapse. I don't have any emergency medical training, but I'm pretty sure I could catch a falling old lady based on my experience playing softball. She managed to hoist the apple juice to the counter by swinging it and throwing in an old-lady grunt (which is not quite as manly as my grunt, but I digress.) Then, in a methodical, sad, deliberate way she uttered the following phrase to nobody in particular:

"My ice cream is melting."

What?!? I looked again at her items. There were no more than ten products in front of her (it was the express lane, after all). There was no freaking ice cream. In fact, there was neither a freezer item nor a dessert. What did this mean? I don't talk to strangers unless I absolutely need to, so I didn't say a word. Did I imagine this? Is "my ice cream is melting" some kind of euphemism for an elderly ailment? What the hell is going on? Was she talking to me, or to herself? Am I crazy? Why is it that insane people make me question my own sanity? Should I get more salsa just in case the new bag of chips throws off the chip to salsa ratio in my home? Who is this mystery woman, and why does she think her ice cream's melting?

By the time I was finished asking myself questions, she was walking out of the store and on her way back to her rent-controlled condo in Crazytown. Nice to know I'd be sharing the road with her in a few minutes.

I waited patiently as the inevitable cashier switch-out happened right as it was my turn. I swear that those supermarket supervisor bastards wait by the door for me, then intentionally do this right as I reach the register.

The store has new, fancy computer screens there now, so I watched as "Whittney" with two "T's" logged out and "Chase" logged in. Chase had very fast fingers, and the register switch-out went surprisingly quick. Chase was obviously pleased with himself. I translated the smirk on his face to mean "Screw the mean bullies in high school gym class who make fun of my complexion, this is my territory and I can input a 30-cent coupon faster than any of them. Someday, I will be a captain of industry." He snapped back to reality (for just a brief moment) and addressed me.

"Oh, hello sir."

"How you doin?", I said because I felt obligated to greet him.

He looked down at my 6 items.

"Having yourself a little party, huh?" He said it like we were buds... Just two cool guys hanging out at a register.

Dumbfounded, I looked at my items again. Did I accidentally throw some colorful paper plates and a cake in my cart? What's going on here. There's beer. OK, beer is essential to any party. What else? Chips. Sure, why not have a beer and chips party. Dog food. Dog food? Reading material. Maybe it's a book club party. Cookies with some assembly required. Did this eclectic mix of items-for-purchase indicate that I was having a party? I mean, I've gone to the very same store to prepare for many parties and the bill is usually much higher, and the party items are much more obvious. What kind of party does this pimply-faced monster attend? I don't know how to answer that. I guess I'll give it my best shot, since he apparently won't be ringing me up until I answer his stupid question.

"That's right. A beer and dog food party", was the best I could do.

"Hey, whatever works", said Chase.

Just get me the hell out of here. Is it me? Am I the one who's crazy. Do we really have such a fear of silence that we must fill those moments with whatever random phrase enters our heads? For me, there is no such thing as "uncomfortable silence", especially in public. In my world, all silence is comfortable. And apparently, all old people and teenagers are freaking looney-tunes.