The other night I was at Publix, and I was in a hurry. It was twenty minutes to closing, so I was on a mission. I flew down the aisles. Flew! I can do that when I know I have to get through fast. So there I was, flying. Glided down the pasta aisle… Strange, a bald man in his early forties, clearly a professional, clearly just glanced at my gigantic wedding ring, just winked flirtatiously at me. Jerk! Seriously, I hate it when men flirt with me. As I walked up toward the cashier, one of the little Publix checker boys was walking by and smiled at me like I was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.
Yeah, I was wearing my painting pants and a workout tshirt. I looked haaaaawt.
Anyway, I got to checkout, and the manager was actually sacking groceries for the customer in front of me. I didn’t know it was the manager at the time; I was paying attention only to my cart full of groceries that I was now quickly emptying onto the belt. I hate making stores stay open past closing for me, so I had a goal to be out before 9 p.m. When the customer in front of me left, the manager walked off behind him and out the front door to the parking lot. The cashier girl, who looked to me like she was in her early twenties, mumbled something under her breath after the manager walked away. She was still smiling, but mumbling all the same.
Cashier Girl greeted me and then said something about The Manager. Then she said, “Well, nobody likes their manager, right?”
I just smiled, because I really had no idea what she was talking about. I was thinking about my groceries and the great sale on the Bounty Select-a-Size paper towels Publix was having and the strange flirty looks I was getting from men in my paint clothes. In fact, I had just finished examining myself to make sure I wasn’t sporting gobs of food down the front of my clothes or anything like that, because what was the big deal about me that night? So when Cashier Girl asked about liking managers, I had barely heard her and only smiled.
Then Cashier Girl asked me, “So do you like your manager?”
Now I was scanning my debit card, and she looked old enough to be watching comedies on NBC, and I have been eating gluten, so I wasn’t thinking straight (yes, I’m blaming the evil gluten)… So I replied.
“Well, I’m a housewife, so I’m sleeping with my manager…”
“So yeah, I like him pretty well.” I smiled and made eye contact, loading the cart with the groceries she was bagging, no manager around to do it for her. She smiled back. UPDATE: I forgot this part. After she smiled back, I said, “But in general, it is not a good idea to sleep with your manager.” She said, “No, I wouldn’t think so.”
“Well, what about when you were working? Did you like your managers then?”
“Some of them, yes. Some of them, no. Depended on the boss.” I liked my managers at the place here in Melbourne. And in Fort Worth at the accounting firm.
“I think I’d like that job, being a housewife. My mom is a housewife.” Your mom. Oh precious. “And now she’s a housemom. She has a seven-month-old baby now and stays home with her. I think I would love to do that when I have kids.”
“Yeah, me too. I love being a housewife and plan to stay home with the kids when we have them.”
“My mom actually waited seventeen years after me before having my little sister.”
That took a minute to settle in. Then I thought, Oh my NO! She’s seventeen. I made a sex joke to a seventeen-year-old!
I’m going straight to hell.