I like to talk to cashiers. To be honest, I like to flirt with cashiers. I think it’s very important when you meet people to think to yourself, “I could end up dating this person, or at least we could be friends.” It reminds you of the humanity of everyone you meet. So many people have very limited spheres of sociality, and these are often kept separate: work-friends, school-friends, friends-from-home, my friend’s friend. Like friendship needs an excuse, a raison d-etre. Seriously: “Oh I just met my girlfriend in line at the grocery store.” Why doesn’t that happen? It’s just another symptom of the lonely mass man. That’s why I think it’s important to flirt with cashiers.
One time I was checking out of a Whole Foods, and I kinda scoff/ feel nauseous at a rack of CD soundtracks to the movie version of Les Miserables in the impulse purchase section. That movie was so bad. It just injects non-sensical pathos into every situation. Characters decide to die arbitrarily, but their entire life was arbitrary. The events of that movie posit themselves as sad, but they never had any connection to reality. They existed in complete isolation and their dissipation is appropriately inconsequential. The tears stand alone, signifying nothing. This is the current state of our society: humans separate from emotions; emotions separate from humans. We pay eight dollars a ticket to re-acquaint, but are only given the semblance of our old friend. We leave alone, maybe with an inkling of having been cheated.
It’s also worth mentioning that they switch the theme of the musical from “revolution! Economic equality! The tragedy of poverty!” to “Forget about the poor – they’ll inherit the Earth! Economic equality in heaven! In the meantime: check this bourgie wedding.” Seriously, we still revert to Christianity to justify the social situation? Maybe just to justify the money spent on that movie. The number of ways this film mocks its audience turns my stomach. I shouldn’t go on. I just wanted to justify my distaste. But if you do watch that movie again, try to notice the arbitrary deaths, the arbitrary drama, the disgusting class bias, the selective revival of one of Christianity’s more destructive tenets.
The only point is that I kinda scoffed at the CD rack. The cashier catches (I almost wrote “cashes!”) my scoff and initiates a conversation.
“Just reacting to the Les Miserables CDs,” I tell her. I did not know her taste, and did not want to offend.
“Oh? I heard it was good.”
I hesitate, eventually express non-committal disacquiescence.
“Yea, that’s the sense I got. The trailer just took the most famous song and put it against high-capital emotion in period attire. Didn’t get a sense of the ruckus or the righteousness that I like in the musical.”
And so I’m kinda caught off guard: “Yeah, to be honest, it was really bad. I just didn’t want to pass judgment on your acquaintances.”
“No, no! You shouldn’t worry if you don’t like that movie.” And she talks about how people often have bad taste, which is true, but more becoming when spoken than when written.
But I’m about finished bagging my groceries, and so I check over my receipt real quick, just holding it deftly between my nails, and head out. I regretted not taking the extra step, asking for her number (“Maybe we can watch a good movie sometime?”). But I was glad for the exchange, and I think I can learn from this regret, and will be ready to ask the next cool and pretty cashier I talk to for her number. I think it’d kinda surprise them, probably in a good way, because I doubt many customers think of socializing with cashiers.
There really are a lot of cool cashiers. I would love to date one of them. If I were dating a cashier, I would walk around, and know that most of the people I see, who I think that many people hardly notice, could be my friends, or maybe they are already like my very short-term friends. And that would be very nice. The only thing is that, the cashiers, their systems are probably so rife with BPA, because they handle receipt paper all the time, that there will probably be a high rate of birth defects among their children. So I could never marry a cashier.