I Bought Spaghetti Ingredients and Somehow Got a Dinner Interview

I went to the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner tonight. Simple errand. Find the food, pay for the food, take the food home. I was looking for the self-checkout because I wanted to get out without the commentary.

They were all closed.

I guess the self-checkout employees didn’t show up for work today. Tough to find people willing to stand inside a machine and let me scan my own groceries, I suppose.

So I found a line and got to the counter. The cashier started checking my items. Then, looking at what I’d bought, she asked, “Having spaghetti?”

No, I bought all the stuff for spaghetti because I’m making meatloaf.

I didn’t say that. But it was right there, ready to go.

Look, I know she was being friendly. She’s checking groceries all day, and the ingredients practically announced the menu. I’m not angry at her. I’m annoyed that I went in looking for the lane where I could quietly do the cashier’s job myself, found every one of those lanes closed, and wound up having to confirm that spaghetti ingredients were intended for spaghetti.

What else was I going to say? “No, I’m taking these home so they can watch me eat cereal”?

That’s the thing about grocery-store small talk. There isn’t much to work with. The cashier sees what you’re buying, and you both know she sees it. I’m not hiding the spaghetti. I put it on the belt. But once somebody asks about dinner, I have to stop being a guy buying food and become a guy reporting his plans to the checkout counter.

Yes, spaghetti. Tonight. Assuming I’m allowed to leave with the ingredients.

Maybe another day I’d be in the mood to chat. Tonight I specifically went looking for the option that wouldn’t ask me anything except whether I wanted a receipt. Instead, I had an audience for a dinner decision I’d already made.

I really wish the self-checkout employees had shown up. They never ask what I’m making. They just make me find the barcode, which is a conversation I can handle.