In Which I Should Learn To Bite My Tongue

I went to the store a few different times recently to pick up a few things. Nothing special, just normal, run-of-the-mill type stuff for people that are in the process of moving, as we are. My first trip to the store was to get packing tape. At the checkout with two rolls of tape, I listened while the chatty cashier rambled on about the weather and tourists and her favorite brand of facial moisturizer to the customer in front of me. Her voice grated on my patience like steel wool on glass, but I waited as patiently as I could.

"Hello!" she said cheerily when it was finally my turn. I grunted a reply as I dug out my wallet. She rang up the tape, and asked, "Packing things up, are ya?" 

Now, I'll admit that there were plenty of things I could have said that would have been more appropriate of a response than the one I chose. A simple "yes" would have been sufficient, but I really wasn't in the mood for small talk. I went for the "shock" factor, something that wouldn't illicit any further dialogue from her. 

"No, I've got to seal up some envelopes," I said. "Don't want the white powder to leak out in transit, you know?"

The cashier took a step back and blinked. It worked. The rest of the transaction was completed in blissful silence. 

The next day, I was out getting some black heavy-duty trash bags. I encountered another talkative cashier who, despite his mullet and curiously strong coffee breath, was pleasant enough in comparison to the first cashier I dealt with. He asked me casually if I was doing some yard work.

I told him no, that the regular-strength trash bags tend to tear when I put someone - err, something inside them. And the black plastic was much more concealing.

I've never been handed change so fast in my life.

I suppose I should learn to bite my tongue and not say things that could potentially get me in trouble, but where is the fun in that?