I was just lining up at the canteen for an afternoon choc-fix. A harmless Mars Bar. The guy in front of me was unloading on his mobile phone in no uncertain way, and didn't even pause to take a breath when he reached the counter. The red-faced, dumpy cashier gave him her best "I've had a bad day" glare and yapped "Can I help you?" but unsurprisingly the message didn't get through.

"Yeah I know dude, that's so sweet," the guy said, oblivious.

"Can I help you?" the cashier said, leaning forward across the counter as if her mere proximity might break through the wall. She upped the volume. "Can I help you?!"

The guy - without breaking stride - held up two fingers and said "sausage rolls" mid sentence. It went something like: "Dude, you know what I'd do - sausage rolls - I'd just let 'em have it."

The cashier pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. I was feeling sorry for her at this point. "We don't have any," she said. Mobile phone guy was already staring off into space again, chattering away, lost in his own private bubble. After a moment (get this) he turns back to her and repeats his order: holds up two fingers and mentions the words 'sausage rolls' somewhere in the middle of a sentence.

"We don't have any!" the cashier blasts back.

He manages an incredulous look but doesn't stop talking, and saunters over to the hot rack where the precious sausage rolls should be. The cashier follows him from behind the counter. He stands there staring for about 15 seconds, as he continues to dole out advice to some poor sap on the other end of the line.

Finally the cashier says "What do you want?" and in answer, he just holds up his hand, palm outward. He stands there like a statue, dead still (except for his mouth of course) for another 10 seconds, and then the cashier has had enough and heads back towards me at the register.

The Mars Bar is trembling in my hand.

"Can I help you?" she practically roars.

I wave the Mars Bar and say "Just this thanks."

"$2.70" she says, bashing the numbers out on the register hard enough to make it edge across the counter with every thump. I know it's only $1.90, but I figure she's going to work this out soon enough, and she does. "No it's not. It's not $2.70 at all. I'm all flustered now!" She looks like she's literally going to explode. I fear that I'll get chunks of cashier meat all over my work uniform. We exchange money and I get the hell outta there.

The mobile phone guy is still in the same spot as I breeze past. I consider smashing the phone against his ear with the palm of my hand as hard as I can, but sanity prevails, and I decide to end the cycle of hate.

The Mars Bar was pretty good anyway.

Posted by Bonestorm on Thursday, August 10, 2006 at 3:44 PM | Permalink