Almost every day at lunch break, my friend Pam and I go for a power walk. We go up and down and all over the east side of Providence wearing our work dresses, statement necklaces, tights with boot socks still pulled up to the knee with our sporty shoes on.
We are fancy.
We almost always end up at Rite Aid for somethingorother; many times it’s chocolate and tampons.
The same cashier is always there. Her name is Joanne. We see her every single day and she never gives any indication that she’s seen us before. It’s been nearly four years. There should be some sort of rapport by now, but nope. Nothing.
We’re just two more customers to get out of her way so she can go back to sticking orange clearance stickers on hideous bottles of nail polish and expired boxes of Cheeze-Its.
At first, Pam and I were hurt that Joanne doesn’t want to be friends with us, but then Pam had a revelation and diagnosed her with Facial Blindness which we thought was a thing that only existed on Arrested Development, but turns out it’s the real deal and Joanne’s got it.
This works out for Pam and me because most of our purchases are embarrassing–especially the purchase I made last week.
You see, I’ve been having some irregularity issues because: 40.
And I have a friend who’s a doctor and she is kind enough to humor my hypochondriacical tendencies. She instructed me that 1) it’s not colon cancer and 2) to take a probiotic and some Citrucel. So, I had the probiotics and had already started taking them, but had to pop into Rite Aid to get the Citrucel.
Whilst purchasing said Citrucel, I had an incident. It was loud, proud and quickly filled Rite Aid with the smell of probiotics doing noble work.
I was the only customer in line.
It was undeniable.
Pam wasn’t with me that day, so I had to endure the entire walk back to work choking on my own laughter to the point of sputtering and gagging, bag of Citrucel swinging expectantly at my side.
So, this is why I’m actually glad that Pam had diagnosed Joanne with Facial Blindness because I can still go into Rite Aid and know that Joanne has no idea I’m the one who did it. In fact, she may not remember it at all because who knows what’s she’s got going on upstairs?
She’s somewhere in her 50’s and she’s a cashier at Rite Aid. ‘Nuff said.
College ain’t for everybody, guys.
If Joanne were able to recognize us, I would ask her to sign a HIPPA because the things Pam and I purchase would certainly warrant such a thing. Pam and her husband, Ethan, are on the baby train and Joanne was very helpful in determining if the buy one get one free sale applied to both ovulation predictor kits AND pregnancy tests. It did. Hooray for Pam!
And since Pam is still not with child (sad face here), Joanne won’t think anything of it when we go in for tampons and chocolate (for the one billionth time).
Only Joanne knows how much chocolate Pam and I consume in one week. It would disturb anyone except her because she doesn’t remember we just bought three bags of M&M’s yesterday and we’re back for more a mere 24 hours later.
Even Monica the ninjarapist (that’s ninja-therapist not ninja rapist, although she’s badass enough to rape a ninja and get away with it) knows Joanne since her office is across the street. We talked about it in therapy and she agrees. Facial blindness is the only answer. We also considered professionalism but quickly ruled it out because sometimes we like to be mean because sometimes being mean in private therapy is very therapeutic.
Anyway, my only regret from that day is that I didn’t say: “I hope that’s the last asshole you hear from today.”
Hindsight is a bitch.