U.F.O.

Yesterday I made the weekly pilgrimage to Whole Foods (a.k.a. Whole Paycheck) in order to make just about my only purchase there:  fresh fruit.

It’s embarrassingly expensive but also very good.   I wandered the produce aisles worth a late model Mercedes, made my selections and headed up to the checkout area reminiscent of food lines in Leningrad during the siege.

When my number was called I went to check out and began to unload the basket.  As the checker took the second item, she looked at it, then at me, and asked, “What are these?”

Though I had chosen them and placed them in a bag, I had no idea.  I fumbled for a second and then asked her to come back to them.

What was the proper protocol?  Do you have to return it if you want to buy it but fail to identify it?  Do other nearby checkers come to our assistance?

The pressure was on as I racked my brain.  The basket was nearly empty.  We would be back to the Unidentified Fruit Objects in a second.

In desperation I blurted out, “Apricots.”  She looked at them again and said, “I think you’re right.”

Relieved, I thanked her and apologized for not knowing what I was buying.

“Honey”, she said, “It happens all the time.”

 

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