it. Just normal purchases, I say to her subliminally. Nothing wrong with pineapple juice. Next comes the toothpicks. Fine. Then the seafood salad. Carol holds it up to her face. I emit manic brainwaves that say just sell it to me bitch but she just holds it there. "doyouknowhowmuchthisis." "Not ... really, no." As far as I understood it, this was the sole responsibility of the checkout chick. "icantseeaprice." I shake my head. Maybe I should have used Ralph's name. How hard is it to put a sticker on a plastic container? Carol reaches for a microphone next to her register. Oh indignity of supermarket indignities. "pricecheckcheckoutten," she drones, and then just stands there, looking at me with black-hole eyes like I've just thrown up on her feet. The girl with the healthy shopping basket whisks her ponytail away from the next register, off home to bathe in mountain streams. I grind my palm into my right eye. "It's $7.99 a kilo," I tell Carol. "whatis." "The ... that. The salad." "theseafoodextendersalad." "Yep." I grimace gainfully. Carol shrugs her shoulders and types something into her keypad. "thatstwelvedollarsfifteen." I pay her and walk out of the supermarket, past the other registers and the their attendant judgemental adolescents. All sufferings for my addiction. Keep this horse galloping Like this: One thought on " &gt;ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD " &gt;Fantastic -- more supermarket stories! I love writing supermarket stories, it's such a huge part of our existence, reliance on the supermarket.