Express Lane
(A meeting, a speaker, the subject homelessness. Reminded of a story written forty years ago when cheap wine was cheaper, but nothing much different)
Satisfied, the cashier closed the drawer and adjusted his apron. Everything was in order. He flipped the switch:
A glowing sign drew customers like moths to a flame.
They jockeyed for positions.
Last place went to a young couple who momentarily hesitated and allowed a woman in curlers to cut them off on their final approach.
Second place went to a young mother whose cart contained a two year-old and the three items her family never had enough of--detergent, diapers, and doughnuts.
First place went to a man in a torn jacket.
Unaware that he had won the contest, the man placed a bottle on the conveyor belt. The cashier scanned it efficiently, a green bottle with a red and gold label offset by large white letters, "Thunderbird"
"That'll be $2.79," the cashier said standing in perfect clerk posture.
The man in the torn jacket dropped coins, scattering them over the counter
The cashier bent over his offering and began pointing and counting.
"That's not enough," he pronounced.
The man in the torn jacket sprinkled more coins onto the counter then pushed trembling hands back into his pockets.
"You still don't have enough."
From the back of the line came a long sigh.
The mother of the two year-old turned. She saw a lady in curlers with an exasperated look on her face.
While she did this, the man in the torn jacket had run out of pockets and coins, the man in the torn jacket stared down at the floor.
The young mother opened her wallet and dropped several quarters.
"Thank you very much, Mam--that was very kind."
His speech was halting, child-like.
"You're welcome--" the young mother started to say.
"That's still not enough," the cashier said.
He looked uncertainly from the old man to the young woman.
She took out a dollar from her purse and laid it on the counter.
The cashier frowned, recounting the money.
And he was not alone. Everyone in line leaned forward and did their own calculations, a high stakes poker game where precious minutes of inconvenience stood at risk.
The cashier swore under his breath and pulled a nickel from his pocket, throwing it into the till.
"Thanks again, Mam," mumbled the man with the torn jacket,
You're a beautiful person, you really are."
And he continued to thank her until the bottle was bagged and quickly passed through automatic doors.
Someone tapped the young mother on her shoulder.
"Thanks, hon. I thought we'd never get rid of that scumbag."
She said nothing.
Then the two year old previously occupied with his Hot-Wheels, grabbed Rolaids some from the check-out display.
"No, Tommy," she said replacing the medicine onto the shelf, "That's not good for you."
The cashier rang up her purchase.
"That's right. Just like wine isn't good for winos. That'll be $11.29."
The mother pawed through her purse, made no reply.
"You know, that guy comes in here three times a week to pull off that same old scam," the cashier said handing her the receipt.
With reddening cheeks the young mother looked away and saw the man with the torn jacket beyond the glass doors. He walked between two stores and disappeared into an alley.
She took possession of her grocery bag and rolled her cart blindly out the door. Her son safe in his car seat, she rested her head against the steering wheel.
A minute passed.
She turned the ignition and pointed the car toward the alley.
He hadn't gotten far.
She found him sitting on flattened boxes between two garbage bins.
The bottle was out now and his eyes lit up like a child with a much anticipated present.
Her lips tightened.
She reached for something in her purse.
The window rolled down, her hand tightened.
An arm shot out toward the man in the torn jacket.
And she dropped it, a crumpled twenty dollar bill...
The woman with the child drove away, her vision blinded by tears.
