It’s funny how sometimes the closest a guy can come to the ‘spirit of Christmas,’ whatever that is, he finds at a Wal-Mart.
First time I tried to buy a bottle of booze at Wally World, the check-out lady demanded photo ID to prove I’m older than 21. If you met me, that wouldn’t be your first question. But rulz is rulz to a certain sort of mind.
I don’t happen to carry photo ID.
A couple of days ago when I was headed for the door and delayed by all the people trying to do all their Christmas shopping at the self-serve registers, I was carrying three objects:
I was prepared to abandon the bourbon if that would get me out the door on the same calendar day.
But the self-serve registers cause so much trouble that the store plants an employee there permanently to keep things working. And this one was clearly a veteran. She saw me coming with my massive bottle of Evan Williams and didn’t have to be told this wouldn’t end well.
She met me at the machine with her mag-card-of-permission. “You’re older than 21, right?” she asked the greybeard with a smile.
I was getting pretty stressed out with all the Wally World At Christmas Eve thing, but I know when I’m being treated kindly. I smiled in return. “I do believe so.”
She swiped the card, and all was done. But when I looked around to thank her for her kindness, she was already off to her next rescue.