One Easter Sunday, my partner and I popped to our local supermarket to pick up a few items for dinner. I immediately headed for the shelves of discounted Easter eggs.
“You don’t need any more chocolate,” my partner chastised me, like a disapproving parent. “Haven’t you got enough eggs at home?”
“OK, I suppose you’re right”, I sulked, slowly moving away, casting forlorn glances back at tempting confectionary.
We meandered up and down the aisles, filling our trolley with mundane items, then headed to the checkout.
My favourite member of staff was on duty. I insisted on joining his line, despite it being a tad longer. He had lovely eyelashes and a bright smile, so it was always a pleasure to check out this cute checkout guy.
It was a textbook example of that classic queer dilemma we have all faced… Shortest queue or hottest staff member? If you choose the shortest queue, you need to take a long hard look at your priorities… and possibly re-evaluate your sexuality!
Checkout hottie and I had bonded several months earlier, during an incident where a particularly coarse and mouthy mother had been letting her unruly children run amok in a supermarket trolly.
When approached by security and asked to control her brood, as they were in danger of falling and injuring themselves, she snarled, “That’s ‘ow dey learn, aye it?!!” (*Translation for non-Brummies – “That’s how one’s children learn, isn’t it?).
My checkout crush remarked, “I suppose she does have a point.”
I replied, with haughty distain, “Well, there is a difference between climbing a tree and being shoved in an Aldi trolley by some chav!”
His eyes bulged and he clamped his jaw tight to supress a snigger, “That might be the case… but as a store employee I couldn’t possibly comment.”
From that honest exchange onward, he was always up for a friendly bit of banter… and a good old bitchfest about the local clientele.
Back in that Easter Sunday checkout queue, I made a spur of the moment decision to dash back to the nearby shelves and grab one of those discounted eggs.
My partner rolled his eyes, “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”.
Checkout cutie jumped to my defence, “You can never have too many Easter eggs.”
“Well, it’s not actually for me,” I explained.
“Then whoever it is for is very lucky,” he commented, scanning the egg and placed it in the bagging area.
“I’m glad you think so,” I replied, handing it to him. “Happy Easter”.
After that sweet Easter exchange, I was given priority treatment at the checkout.
Turned out to be the best £1.49 I have ever spent.
Several months later, I realised that I hadn’t seen my favourite checkout buddy for a while and asked another member of staff what had happened to him.
“He got a promotion and left,” she told me.
“Oh no,” I wailed, “who am I going to flirt with now?!” Realising my tactlessness, I lightly touched her shoulder and apologised, “Sorry, no offence.”
I always knew he was destined for greater things than a checkout job at Aldi, but the weekly shop will never be the same again. X
