No, thank you. NO, thank you. NO, THANK YOU.

In the spirit of Halloween: Did you hear the one about a skeleton who walked into a bar and ordered a drink and a mop?

By far, one of my favorite jokey, non-jokes. Most people don't get it the first time they hear it, so you get to watch the lines in their forehead wrinkle, their eyebrows knit together and the gears in their brain grind. THEN they go "OH." Very rarely does anybody laugh. They just acknowledge that they GET IT.

But, do they really?

I, for one, know I fain understanding sometimes just to get out of a situation. Like the one at Tom Thumb the other night.

I was purchasing a 36-pack of water bottles. I had lifted the bottles off the bottom shelf and carried them to the conveyor belt myself. It wasn't a back-breaking experience and, actually, I needed to work out my arms, so I was glad to carry them*.

Once I got to the head of the line, the kind checker asked if I wanted a cart for the bottles. "No, thank you" was my response.

Then the inquisition began.

"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Thank you."

Enter our handy bagger. Who happened to be deaf, God bless her. She pointed to the cart area and said something I couldn't understand. I smiled, doing my best "I totally get what you just said" look.

It was clear she thought I needed a cart, too. And she wasn't giving up easily.

Me, hoping I was about to respond to the unitelligble statement correctly: "No. Thank you."
Bagger: "Need cart."
Me, waving my arms and hands like I was a line judge at the Super Bowl: "No. That's OK."

Then the bagger stopped an elderly gentleman. A co-worker. "Cart", she commanded. And pointed at me.

I'm sure the confluence of wrinkles on my forehead could have held pennies in it. I just couldn't believe how insistent these people were. What did I look like, a 90-year-old with arthritis and no muscle tone**?

At this point, the gracious thing would have been to accept the cart. But, by golly, it had became a matter of principle. I just wasn't in the mood to deal with GREAT CUSTOMER SERVICE and these people needed to back the heck up!

By this time, my handy credit card had posted the $4.99 charge and mutiny was about to start in the line behind me. Who could blame the other line-dwellers? Here I was with one freakin' item and you'd think I was buying an elephant and leaving without peanuts. Or a big shovel.

Deaf bagger person continued to insist I needed a cart as the checker handed me my receipt. I reached to pick up the water bottles, saw the 80-year-old savior, with MY cart jetisoning toward the checkout stand. I did my best peripheral blindness imitation and passed by him.

After I got to the car, I couldn't help but think about how this would have panned out at Walmart. I would have picked up the bottles, drug them to the checkout stand, the checker would have slung them up on the merry-go-round-for-plastic-bags and, if I was lucky, said "Have a nice day." Or grunted goodbye, depending on the hour and the checker.

And, you know the strange thing? I prefer the Walmart experience. Because I really hate to try to reason with strangers or explain my point-of-view to people I don't know. That's hard enough with people I know intimately.

So, Tom Thumb. Thanks for the water. Best of luck in the grocery wars. When I can't find something I need at Walmart, I'll be back.

But I damn sure won't be buying anything heavy. Or bulky.

Unless I'm in the mood to accept that forsaken cart.




*Over the Summer I attempted to pull myself out of the pool by the arms, without assistance from the legs. I found myself flopping back into the pool like an epileptic fish. Let's just say, when you are laughing at your own lack of strength, it's not a good idea to try this stunt a second time. Best just to use the ladder.

**Don't answer that.