Personality Typos

I was at a market the other day and decided to walk down the frozen foods aisle. You know, the one that makes you feel like Darth Vader as you walk down since it tracks your movement and lights up accordingly.

As I'm walking I see a shopping cart attached to guy who looks like Santa Claus turn the corner and start walking down towards me. He's yelling one word-- "f**k! f**K! F**K!" I don't know why he was so flustered, but I certainly wasn't going to ask him.

Who do I look like, anyway? Jesus Christ?

I turn the other way and look for the stuff on my shopping list. I spend some extra time looking at things I don't need, subconsciously because I'm hoping this madman will be long gone by the time I get to the checkout aisle.

I finally finish my list, pick one of the aisles behind a small line, dump my produce on the conveyor belt, and guess who shows up behind me?

"F**k", he mutters to himself, quietly enough to not offend everyone, but loud enough for others to hear.

In situations like these, I generally like to pretend I forgot something I never get and mosey out of line.

Silly as it sounds, I knew he would be difficult. I don't know how I knew. It could be because he was shamelessly yelling out expletives at a Ralphs and looked like a feral bear ready to claw at anyone willing to help. Or maybe I'm psychic (if you believe in any of that voodoo magic). Whatever the case, I just wanted to see what he was going to do.

My adrenaline induced thought process at the time could be psychologically linked to the one time I was a kid and my mum and I were attacked-- out of the blue-- by a psychopath with his cart, also at a checkout line. It could be linked to that, who's to say? What do I look like, Criss Angel?

All I know is that I'm tired of picking "flight" over "fight" when it comes to moments like this. I stood my ground, keeping one eye on the cashier, one on the grizzly fellow, ready to retaliate if he were to make a move. I decide to make eye contact and assert dominance.

"How are ya?" The Santa Claus man asked.

"I'm good, thanks" was my response. I couldn't have sounded more peaceful.

"What did you just say?" he snapped. He was ready to get offended, as I expected.

"I said 'I'm good'" I tell him and dismiss the conversation.

"Oh." He starts putting his produce on the conveyor belt.

I make eye contact with the cashier. She doesn't make it back.

"Hey" I say to her.

"Hi Ralphs club card?" she asks the countertop.

I swipe it.

"19 dollars 73 cents."

I hand her a 20 dollar bill. Her eyes shift from the cash register to the 20. The machine to my right disperses the 27 cents.

"Thanks" I say, proud of my quick-ass transaction.

"You're welcome have a good day" is her response to the space between me and Santa.

I make my way to my car, glad that I didn't have to fight frantic old Saint Nick. In retrospect, this was the most I've thought over a Nutri-Grain bar run.