The express line. Only one person in front of me. As I place my items on the conveyor belt , I count. Hmm, the two boxes of birthday candles send me over the limit. Well, they are small. No one will notice. 

It dawns on me that I am not moving. The cashier has left the register and is scanning items already packed in the carriage ahead. “You counted the turkey twice,” points out the elderly customer. The cashier remains silent and returns to his station. “He is just trying to help you,” the bagger offers. “There is no need to be crabby.” Oh, no.

I look at my slightly-above-the-limit items spread out. I can’t leave. It is okay. I won’’t think about where I need to be. Or get stressed. The dark-haired woman behind me has eggs and mayonnaise. Two items. It is my turn finally. I  look back and tell the woman to go ahead. I will wait.

The diligent cashier scans the eggs and opens the carton. “This one’s cracked. You need to replace it.” The woman nods her head. The bagger has disappeared. The cashier leaves. I will wait.