I wrote before about a particularly interesting Indian grocer at my local Publix. While I know he’s well-meaning- he takes friendliness to the. . . next level so I avoid his check-out line even if he’s manning the ten items or less booth and the alternative is waiting with my gallon of milk behind a lady with a stack of produce tall enough to make a mountain climber feel wistful. Until today- when I happened to be in line as shift change took place and Bobullah [Bob for short] became my check-out dude.
Bob: Make a donation to March of Dimes?
Me: Not today.
Bob. Ha. Ha. Not today, she says.
Me: Excuse me?
Bob: Oh nothing. Where is your son?
Me: With my husband.
Bob: Yes he bought soda, lots of diet soda, last week right?
Me: Um. I guess so.
Bob: There is a new Indian store that’s opened up two miles up the road.
Me: That’s good.
Bob: I bet you go to Bombay Spices.
Me: Um. Sometimes.
Bob: Go to the other one. My friend owns it. Bombay Spices? They rip you off and I mean you.
Bob: You don’t pay attention. I see it. You don’t even look at your receipt. That’s how Bombay Spices makes its money. I can ring these buns twice and you would not notice.
Bob: I mean. I would not do that. ha. ha. but I could. And you wouldn’t know. That will be $21.27
It’s not just me right? While he doesn’t say anything that is outright ‘go-to-your-manager-and-complain’-able it’s just a strange conversation to have but what can I say? He notices things too much? Tell him to be less observant? [And now I both want to go Bombay Spices and never step foot in there again.]