"Cheesy garlic bread?" she demanded.

I was not as prepared with the correct answer -- "yes, it is" -- as I would have liked, and was unable to deliver it before she looked up at me.

Realizing I was not the person she thought I was, a look of horror and disgust crossed her face.

The intendend respondent, a 14-year-old girl a few coolers down, responded "Yeah, I like that better."

By that time, I was off to find the ice cream.

At the checkout, I followed a guy buying an entire pallet of beef ramen noodles. The bagger asked if he would like to keep them in the box; he requested the entire contents of the case of ramen be poured into a plastic bag.

I was unable to tell how he paid, but from what I could see on the cash register, the possible combinations of denominations that would require such large change, and what the cashier counted out, he recieved an extra $10 beyond what he was owed.

As I prepared to swipe my card (which customers are not allowed to do until the machine orders you to), the cashier at the closed lane behind me read from a very long receipt abandoned by a long-gone customer.

"Tyson.
Tyson.
Tyson.
Tyson.
Tyson.
Tyson.
Tyson.

Marlboro."

I thought to myself that Tyson Marlboro would be an excellent pen-name or porn-star name. I briefly considered telling this to the teenaged cashier helping me, or the teenaged receipt-reader, but feared that my wit would be lost on them, and then I missed having my wife along, who definitely would have appreciated the thought.