Dirigible

I assume there’s something important going on, like a key baseball game or a special taping of Wheel of Fortune or something, because there’s a blimp with a beer advertisement on it flying around over the city.

At the natural foods grocery store I go to, the skinny checker was ringing up the groceries of the woman in front of me. After handling the other groceries, she carefully slipped a package of ground beef into a little plastic bag, scanned the barcode, and dropped it into the grocery bag – all without touching the meat’s saran wrapped packaging.

“Your total is . . . exactly ten dollars.”

“I have a twenty.” The customer fishes around in her purse and passes a crisp twenty over to the cashier.

The cashier started punching up some numbers on the register, while studying the portrait of the Queen of England on the front of the $20 bill. Nothing happened for a couple of seconds while the cashier decided how to respond to this, something one wouldn’t have considered happening, “This is Canadian.”

“Oh, sorry. The customer dug around in her purse again and replaced the QE2 with a Jackson.

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