The Checkout Stand

There is an older Filipino lady in front of me in line at the grocery store. She's transferring items from her overburdened shopping cart onto the check out conveyor and it's piling up fast. I pick up the triangular plastic divider and hold it at the ready to demarcate the end of her space and the beginning of mine, but she says something to me in a thick accent. I nod, smile and say, "uh huh, yeah", which is what I almost always do when I don't understand what's been said to me. I remain frozen in place, uncertain what to do while she deftly positions a gourd between a box of laundry detergent and a bag of spinach. "There," she says, "I'm done now."

I start to transfer my own groceries to the narrow space between her groceries and the edge of the conveyor belt. The line has started to build and behind me a broad shouldered woman with long lanky hair is leaning over the handle of her cart. Behind her, a balding middle-aged man with glasses is clutching at his grocery basket with both hands, like a boy with a picnic basket. The older Filipino lady eyes the register display and ticks off items in cents and dollars as they go through the scanner, down another conveyor belt, and into the hands of a teenage girl who bags them neatly in plastic. When it comes time for her to pay, she pulls out a piece of paper and begins discussing with the cashier. I sense an inaudible groan escaping from the people behind me.

At first I assume the Filipino lady is handing over coupons to the cashier, but I look closer and see they are bent over an old grocery receipt. The lady is explaining something; there's a mistake with an item in the receipt.
The cashier says, "So... we need to credit you for this?"
"No. No, no. I need to pay," says the lady.
"Oh! You need to pay."
"Yes. See, it is only here once, but we got two of them."
The girl who is bagging the lady's groceries breaks out in an irrepressible smile, but she looks away and pretends to be smiling at something else.

The cashier pulls a red pen out of his pocket and applies it to the offending receipt.
"Well," he says with a straight face, "Don't worry about it. Consider this a gift from Stater Brothers to you for all the years you've been coming here."
He draws a big red circle around the item on the receipt, appends a brief explanatory note, and initials it.
The lady beams like she's just won the lottery. She thanks him, then takes out her wallet and, with great solemnity and satisfaction, tucks away her amended receipt.