You don’t know me; let’s talk
(Originally published February 2024)
I was standing in the bulk spice section of the co-op the other day, scooping a portion of dried thyme leaf into a little bag, when I noticed another shopper at my elbow. As I started to put the thyme jar away, she said, “You can leave that out. I need some, too.”
I said, “Sure. Here you go.” But I didn’t stop there. Instead, I did what I always do when interacting with people in stores: I kept talking.
I can’t help myself.
“You know how it is these days,” I said, resisting the urge to wink. “Nobody ever has enough … thyme.”
She smiled and murmured something vague. I had no choice but to keep going.
“It was a joke,” I said. “About time. Because we’re all so busy.”
“Ha, ha,” she said politely (using those words, as opposed to actually laughing). “That’s funny.”
“That’s funny” is a kind way of saying, “That’s not funny.” But who could blame her?
I slunk away, like I always do when I humiliate myself in public. It’s a regular occurrence.
It seems to happen mainly at grocery stores, but that’s because those are pretty much the only places I ever go. I’m sure I’d embarrass myself in nail salons and auto dealerships, too, if I spent more time in them.
“I slunk away, like I always do when I humiliate myself in public.”
It’s not just that I talk to people in supermarkets; I’m also clumsy. A few months ago, for instance, in the cart lobby on my way out of the store, I dropped a full gallon of milk. It split open on impact, spraying carts, shoppers, and walls alike. Everyone loved it.
Then there’s my distractedness. One year at Hannaford, the day before Thanksgiving, I was rushing to escape the crowds and noise at the front end of the store. The second my groceries were bagged, I took off for the door, my fully laden cart approaching 30 mph on the straightaway.
Just before I reached the exit, the clerk who had rung up my order yelled—to the amusement of the 5,000 other customers—“Ma’am! Are you going to pay for all that?”
Still, the chattiness is my biggest issue. It’s a trait I inherited from my mother, who unleashed her wit on shoppers and salesclerks whether they were ready for it or not.
One time as she was checking out, the high-schooler who was scanning her groceries glanced at the man in line behind her. Not sure whose stuff was whose on the conveyor belt, the girl said, “Are you together?”
My mother, without missing a beat, said, “I am. I don’t know about him.”
She was the only one of the three of them who laughed out loud. Or at all.
On the way home after the thyme incident, I found myself reliving all my worst grocery store moments. Soon, the all-time winner came back in a wave of embarrassment.
I was third in the checkout line at Shaw’s during some sort of promotion. Shoppers earned stickers they could collect and later redeem for things like dishes or knives.
The gentleman in front of me asked whether I was saving stickers and, if so, whether I would like his. So—of course—I started talking. I told him I kind of remembered a similar program from my youth.
“Me too,” he said. “My mother used to paste stamps into a booklet, and there was a catalog of products you could buy with them.”
“Yes!” I said, as the memory grew clearer. “Our supermarket had a showroom next door where you could trade in the stamps for blenders and things—even bicycles, if you had enough stamps.”
We fell silent, both of us trying to recollect what the stamps were called. I could picture them: light green with red writing and perforated edges.
Suddenly, the name hit me. And in typical Jessie fashion, I blurted it out without thinking: “S&M Green Stamps!”
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
We both knew instantly that I had meant “S&H Green Stamps.” But it was too late. He laughed and said, “Whoa. I bet you’d redeem very different things with those stamps.”
For once, I didn’t say anything; I was too busy looking for a dark hole to crawl into and never come out of.
Let’s face it: Shopping would be less awkward for me—and for my helpless victims—if I could learn to stop talking.
But who am I kidding?
If the S&M Green Stamps episode didn’t cure me, nothing ever will.
