That Will Be $29.50

When I was young one of my dream jobs was to be a grocery store cashier. I'd stand in line at the Piggly Wiggly and watch as the gum-snapping 17 year old would "beep" each of our carefully chosen items through the scanner. I loved when the produce came along, because she'd have to type a long number into her keyboard, her purple eye shadow glinting in the fluorescent lights.

Yogurt - beep. Milk - beep. Apples - type type type. Honey Nut Cheerios - beep. Oranges - type type type. Cheddar - beep. Beer - beep. Carrots - type type type. Lunch meat - beep.

"That will be $29.50." I loved this part. My mom would hand her the cash, and she'd slide open the magical money drawer, perfectly organized with piles of green bills and compartments of coins. She'd flip up the little arm that held the bills down, add my mom's cash, and then slide out the change without even blinking, or realizing how cool her job was. I had a little experience with this part because I had played Monopoly with my brother a few times, and he let me be the banker. But this was the real deal! She had her own drawer!

"Would you like paper or plastic?" she'd say. I'd look up at my mom, who would always say "paper, please" but I didn't understand why until years later.

Now I go to the grocery store and watch the sad, bored girls slide my purchases across the scanner without looking me in the eye, fighting with their boyfriends via text underneath the counter, typing the wrong produce code into their computers, putting everything into plastic bags without asking. I still have the dream to be one of them someday, but for different reasons. I want to know what people are buying, how they are feeding their families, how much money they are spending on cheese, what the percentage of people who are bringing canvas bags is. I guess in some ways dreams never die.