Humiliation at the Discount Store

I stand on the precipice of becoming a doddering old fool. I’m forgetting numbers and names, spilling food on myself; and now I’m becoming oblivious to my surroundings. A routine trip to Target for some last-minute 4th of July supplies slapped me in the face with the newest notion.
After buying soft drinks, a couple of steaks and a few other things (A couple of dozen items, an important detail), I went to the check-out lane. There was one person in front of me, paying. I started piling my items on the conveyor belt. Shavonsa, the lovely check-out girl, was staring at me. The conveyor belt was not moving. Something was amiss, but who knew what it was? Shavonsa, that’s who. After another awkward silence and an obvious lack of action, she looked at me and said in her sweet, inimitable Shavonsa way, “Ahmo check you out, but this be the spress lane.” I looked and, and well it sure be. The sign quite clearly requires one to have 10 items or less to gain access to Shavonsaland. I apologized and offered to go somewhere else; but being as how “they isn’t nobody behind you” (Love the Shavonsa), I was allowed to stay.
I appreciate Shavonsa’s politeness and flexibility, truly. I have learned another life lesson, for I am now a reformed harsh judger of those who abuse the express lane. They’re not inconsiderate idiots; they’re just formerly focused folks who have become aimless souls.
The express lane to old age is a dizzying place. Try to keep your balance.

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