Candy and Beer

Husband had a long day at work yesterday.

He got home late, feeling exhausted. He asked if I would go to the store and get him some beer and his favorite candy - blow pops.

I didn't really feel like it, but after a nail-biting competition of Rock, Paper, Scissors, it was decided that I would be the one to go.

So I changed out of my pajamas into real pants and a coat, since it was like 20 degrees outside, and headed to the store.

Now, we live kind of out in the boondocks. The closest actual grocery store is close to ten minutes away, with absolutely nothing in between, aside from empty summer homes and the county dump, so it can feel a lot longer than 10 minutes to get out there. After 5pm we usually aren't in the mood to make that long of a trip, so we typically opt to go to the rural gas station, which is only about two minutes in the opposite direction. 

They have a primitive grocery mart, with the kind of essentials people usually decide they need at about 8pm, like alcohol. And, since they pretty much have a monopoly on the food market for the whole southern half of the island, everything is priced way higher than normal.

The only reason we go there is to buy alcohol and candy; essentials at our house.

It seems like the last few times I have gone, the same guy is always working. And he is always the one who cashiers my purchase of a six pack and 30 blow pops. 

I'm so paranoid that, even though he always smiles and is polite, he must be thinking I am a crazy recluse alcoholic who eats her feelings.

Well, surprise surprise, guess who was working as I walked into the store last night? Mr. Totally Judges Me With His Eyes. 

I smiled and said hello, then quickly made my way to the back of the store. I found the refrigerator with the beer, and grabbed the Mike's Hard Lemonade Husband wanted, (okay, so it's not exactly "beer", but it's like when we're at a restaurant and Husband makes ME order the strawberry daiquiri that HE wants to drink, because he is too embarrassed to order it for himself. If it comes in a bottle and is sold in a six pack, we just call it "beer").

Next, I slowly headed over to the candy aisle, while scanning the check-out counter. To my luck, the guy was nowhere to be seen, and instead a middle-aged woman was checking a customer out. Sweet! This is my chance!

I grabbed as many blow pops as I could, and then a huge handful of watermelon Airheads, because Husband loves those too. I took a look at my pathetic basket. Beer, and a mountain of candy. Oh well, as long as that woman is still cashiering I should be good.

I walked over quickly but the guy was back! Mr. Judgy just popped up out of nowhere. Crap.

I sheepishly handed over my basket, while looking up at the ceiling, and down at the counter - pretty much everywhere except the guy's face.

At that point I couldn't decide which was more awkward: letting him go on assuming I am a lonely alcoholic with a massive sweet tooth, or blurting out, "I'm totally married! This is all for my husband!"

But all the sudden I was distracted by the fact that he had just scanned the beer and DIDN'T ASK FOR MY ID, OMG! I mean, so what if he's sold me alcohol like a dozen other times, he can't at least humor me by asking to see some ID?

So now he is a judgy jerk who thinks I'm old.

I paid for the items, told him I didn't need a receipt - I wasn't looking for any excuse to hang around longer than I had to.

As I was heading out the door, he called to me with a smile on his face, "We'll be seeing you soon, I'm sure."

I wanted to be offended. But it's probably true.