Faking that personal touch

My half-dozen items were being rung up at a South Hill grocery yesterday afternoon when the young cashier asked if I had anything fun planned for the rest of my day.

“Not really,” I told her.

I could live without being asked questions like that by cashiers who don’t know me and couldn’t care less about my answer. But I suppose their managers insist on them instigating such exchanges.

You know. To make the store seem friendly or whatever. I get it.

But then, as she was handing me my change a few moments later, she surprised me.

“Got anything fun planned for the rest of the day?” she asked. Again.

It dawned on me that I could have provided any sort of answer the first time around and she would have simply smiled and nodded.

“I’ve been called up by the Detroit Tigers as a knuckleball specialist relief pitcher,” I could have said. “I’m leaving to join the team in Cleveland tonight.”

Uh, huh. That’s nice.

I cheerfully repeated my “Not really” and left her to her daydreams.