The check-out girl and I peered at my haul. One grapefruit. A tin of tomatoes. A packet of dried basil.
The tomatoes went over the scanner.
"Eating for one, eh sir?" she said.
Then the basil.
"Still, at least you didn't buy one of those meals for two..." she continued.
She attempted to scan the grapefruit. Mother nature is yet to be thoughtful enough to provide fruit with a barcode, and there were a disturbing amount of attempts to swipe the yellow sphere over the scanner before the girl realised she'd have to consult her big-book-o-codes.
"...you always see the single guys getting those, pretending they've got company"
She keyed in the price of my breakfast.
"And as for those who religiously buy a packet of condoms every week..." she snorted. Fortunately it was time to pay and the monologue was interrupted. I wondered if putting the word "religious" in the same sentence as "condom" would result in a lightning bolt from Rome. I paid the money, relieved that my purchases didn't include any rubberware.
In actual fact, the check-out girl had said nothing. I gave her an extra hard stare anyway, just in case she'd been thinking it, collected my change and stalked out into the rain.
