I do the weekly grocery shopping for my household, since I work from home while Shaundra has to brave Houston traffic to commute to her office. It's a hassle since I hate going to the store, but it's also a hassle to starve, so...you know...
As such, I've come to know a few of the checkers and baggers at my local store--and their tendencies. Armed with this knowledge, when I'm ready to leave, I'll pick certain lines based on the personnel. The lines might be longer than others, but if it ensures me a less stressful checkout experience, I have absolutely no problem waiting.
This logic flies directly in the face of "The Expediter," however--the person I've noticed popping up more and more often who's sole job is to throw a wrench into my plans by calling me out and directing me to a line that's shorter, most likely because I've avoided it due to not wanting to deal with someone working it. I've been foiled by this nemesis before, and she got me again today.
As I was scanning the checkout lines, I saw one staffed by a particular bagger I don't care for (nothing personal of course; I don't even know the guy's name). Not only is he slow physically (and maybe mentally, I can't tell), he bags items together that shouldn't be (think cheese and raw meat) and puts stuff in areas of the basket that I don't want them in. So, when I saw him, I simply moved on to another line. All was good. All was fine...
But "The Expediter" wasn't having it. "Sir?"
You know how you think you hear something, but you're not sure, so you ignore it? Yeah, that was me. There were plenty of other people in the store. Surely she wasn't talking to--
I could've been an ass and kept my eyes locked straight ahead, but unfortunately for me, I'm too nice for that. So I looked over at the destroyer of my good vibes, and she motioned me, naturally, to the line I had specifically avoided. I thought about telling her that I was fine where I was, but then I'd expose myself to her scrutinization of my choice, and ultimate discovery that I was, in fact, being an ass. Deciding that was worse than whatever bagging fate awaited my groceries, I reluctantly took her suggestion.
The expected annoyance soon followed. If I roll up with everything in the top portion of the basket, why in the name of Asgard would you put something under it? I bought an 8-pack of paper towels. Yes, it's large, but it fit in the top of the basket with everything else. But, of course, once Mr. Sorry Sacker got his hands on it, he slapped a sticker on the package and shoved it under the basket. Why, for crying out loud? Look at my purchase! Why must I bend over when there's absolutely no need to?
Luckily, that was the only infraction this time around. The list was small, which didn't allow for too much sacking that could lead to food contamination, and there wasn't so much that he tried to put something in the baby seat--
Talk about something I really can't stand...