(Follows Part I below)
Confidence and concentration are building with each momentous step toward the last barrier before me and sweet surrender of outside anonymity. I was faced with the decision of two cashiers. Two sets of judgmental eyes. One awkward, gray, balding, bespeckled, pot-bellied man to my right... and a young, hip, fit black man to the left. The decision seemed easy. Seemed easy... but I should have known better. Known indeed. The line starts building behind me, ya got the whole gamut, the whole spectrum of America behind me, the most diverse melting pot was birthed in my cashier wake. My, what powerful condoms these must have been. I approached my guy. I set them on the counter, proud and all. "Hi!," he exclaims. "Hey yourself" I shot back. I can play this formalities game. "
-"How's your Monday going?" (Tricky, I know... I see where he's going with this)
-"Oh ya, know. Monday. It's almost over." (Damn, I'm losing it...I start fumbling with my debit card, as he starts fumbling with the bag... condoms flashing everywhere)
-"Well good good. One more day down, plus looks like you're Monday will get a little better now." He eyes motioned downward to explain his meaning.
- . . . . . .Yeah, thanks, got it.
I look down and pay very close attention the credit card machine. It needs my full undivided attention right at this moment.
(Cash back? No, but thank you)
(Is this the right amount? Yes, thank you for being so thorough)
**Meanwhile, the cashier guy looks to the lady behind me, "Ma'am you can go ahead and put your stuff up here"
-. . .
The machine and I continue our painfully slow conversation
(Are you married? No, but maybe one day)
(Guess you don't care about God then? well, that's a little personal)
(Would you like to make a donation to save sinful sluts like you? NO!)
(Your transaction is being process. Thank you and have a nice day)
The cashier removes the receipt, hands it over with a sly smirk and says, "See ya next time."
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