I’m a bachelor. Sort of. For about a week.
My wife and three oldest daughters are at Girl’s camp for the week, roughly 90 minutes away. My youngest daughter, who is 11, is hanging out with her best friend / cousin for part of the week. So, for a time, I’m living the life of a bachelor.
On the way home from dropping off my youngest daughter, I decided to pick up a few groceries from Target. You know, the basics: Milk, cereal, TV dinners, and the makings for Root Beer floats.
I got to the check-out line with my items, and the conversation with the cashier went something like this:
“Do you have our Target card?” asked the cashier.
“My wife may have one, but I don’t,” I said. “She’s out of town so I’m just picking up a few things.”
“Oh! Let me tell you about it. You can save 5% on … yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“That’s nice, but I rarely do the shopping. That’s something my wife likes to do. And I really don’t need more plastic in my wallet.”
“But, you could be saving on these purchases right now!”
In total, I had about $15 worth of items. That could have saved me 75 cents. “I appreciate it,” I said, “but like I told you, I just don’t do enough shopping for it to be worth my while.”
The cashier gives me a blank stare. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Won’t you be doing more shopping now that your wife has left you?”
Quickly thinking back over the conversation, I tried to figure out what would have given him the impression that my wife left me. Nothing came to mind.
“Uh, my wife didn’t leave me. She’s just out of town for the week.”
“Out of town without you, right?” the cashier clarified.
“Yes. That doesn’t mean she left me.”
“It’s okay. Really,” the cashier said, his facial features softening. “My wife left me three years ago, and I kept telling myself it was only for a week. You don’t have to be embarrassed by it.”
I glanced around, trying to see if anyone else was hearing this conversation. No one was.
“Look, I’m not embarrassed,” I said. “I’m sorry your wife left you. Honestly. But my wife didn’t leave me.”
He gave me a look like he didn’t believe me. “Do you have a cell phone?” he asked.
“Give her a call right now. That way we’ll both know.”
“Uh, no. Please just ring up the rest of my items so I can be on my way.”
As he continued to scan in my groceries, he said, “I don’t see why you are afraid to call her.”
“I’m not afraid. She probably won’t answer. She’s at—”
The cashier interrupted me. “She won’t answer? Oh, dear, oh, dear.”
I decided to keep quiet, not quite believing this conversation was actually happening,
By this time, the last item was scanned in. “Your total is $14.96. You could have saved 5% if you had our Target card,” he said.
I paid for the groceries. While I was gathering up my items to leave, a lady came to the register with a few items.
“Well, hello!” the cashier said. “Do you have our Target card?” he asked her.
“I sure do,” she said. “I do all the shopping. My husband hates to shop, but I can’t see why.”
I thought about giving both of them a few ideas of why that may be the case.