The Shoplifter, His Wife, The Cashier, And Me

A short, pointless vignette from the supermarket in which I am disturbed to find myself at best a supporting character

I was at NoFrills the other day, waiting for a human clerk because scanning my own groceries feels like it breaks the social contract.

In front of the register I was lined up at, a slovenly-looking guy with his mask below his nose who I took to be store security was accusing an older man of not paying for all his groceries. The cashier at my station had apparently ratted him out, as she was calling details of the transaction out to the security dude.

While I waited to pay, a woman, evidently the wife of the alleged shoplifter, pushed past me and joined the discussion. The security hobo told her to back off and she left the store.

I finished buying my carrots and granola bars and had just exited the store when the cashier came out behind me, looked around, and asked me if I’d seen “that guy’s wife”.

“The woman who was behind me?” I said.

She nodded, then looked down the street and said “Oh there she is”, then to me “Can you wait a minute?”

I’m an agreeable sort and eager to be included, so I said “Sure” instead of “To what end?” She raced off to get the woman, while I stood wondering what my role in this unfolding drama might be.

The clerk returned seconds later with the (alleged) perp’s spouse following behind. I gave the cashier the slightly raised eyebrow and she responded with a barely perceptible shake of the head, which I took to mean that my services, whatever they were supposed to be, were no longer required.

That was the whole deal.

At no point was I called upon to heroically stand up for the accused, the cashier, or even the sloppy-masked security man. I was not required to bring my keen insights to bear on the mystery at hand and offer up a surprising, but irrefutable solution.

I didn’t even trip one of the protagonists by accident, setting a new and hilarious chain of events into motion.

Sometimes it’s necessary to admit that, in spite of what social media wants you to believe, not every story is about you.

Still, it’s my hope, if not expectation, that I will someday understand what was going on.

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