Randall is glaring at me suspiciously again. Most likely he’s wondering why I have a line like the Great Wall of China rapidly growing behind this somewhat demonic elderly woman who keeps calling me Maybelle.

She requests paper bags in plastic bags in paper bags in double plastic.

As if there is logic behind that. Oh dear god, she’s writing a check…

The old woman is squinting. She can’t find her glasses. She doesn’t realize I’ve been holding a pen in front of her face for the past five minutes.

She asks me to repeat the total. Four times. She forgot what day it is. She gets angry when I tell her its not Wednesday.

I now know what it feels like to have a mental breakdown.

People are getting angry. One man looks ready to run the woman down with his shopping cart.

I don’t blame him.

Instead of handing me her check like any normal human would, she holds it under her arm as she decides to balance her checkbook first.

I’m really hoping the guy behind her snaps.