If any of you have been to the Trader Joe’s here, you know that all the cashiers are extremely friendly.
I don’t know if this is the way it is everywhere, but the one here in New York, they talk to you while they bag your crap.
They seem genuinely interested in the things going on in your life.
Normally, I’d rather not make small talk. I’m just not that kinda dude. But today, when my girlfriend and I went to get all our groceries, I found myself having a conversation with the guy bagging our stuff.
I had just bought a pair of shoes, and he started commenting on them, and I was exchanging pleasant replies the entire time – you know, it’s called Being a Nice Person.
Then he told me about his feet.
He told me that his feet were really small (size 5) and that they had, “huge, protruding bunions” on them from “years of ballet.”
I nodded. I looked at my feet.
Then he told me that his left foot was “much longer than his right” and they looked like “little clubs.”
I said, “Oh. Really?” Because, what the fuck are you supposed to say to something like that? “Little clubs???” What the fuck???
I also, at this point, realized why I don’t like people.
As he said “little clubs” he balled his hands up and held them up side-by-side to me. This, I guess, was the visual aid of his Foot Presentation.
The rest of our encounter went by in an awkward silence.
He knew that he had – perhaps – told me a little bit too much, and I knew – without a doubt – that I would never look at feet the same way again.