On Saturday, Rachelle and I went up to some shopping complex at Eglinton and Laird to run some errands. Rachelle hit the Best Buy, while I visited Starbucks, where I had three ginger molasses cookies (I love these cookies—they are the size of my head and so soft and moist it’s as if they didn’t even bother to cook them) and then went to Winners, where I picked-up a couple of items.
While waiting in the lineup here, it struck me that the automated voice that cued the customers in the line-up to the next available cashiers sounded funny to me. Although it said, “Please proceed to cashier #4,” it sounded to me like it was saying, “Please proceed to cashew #4.”
This amused me to no end.
When I got to cashier/cashew #4– as I had been directed– I said, “And you, you must be cashew #4!”
From behind the cash, a round, Jamaican woman with long, intricate fingernails, looked at me with utter astonishment. With her hand to her chest as if to ward off a heart attack, she said, “Why would you say such a thing to me?”
“Oh, the automated machine, it sounded like it was saying “proceed to cashew 4, not cashier 4,” I responded.
“I swear to the Lord, I just been thinking about cashews. I been wanting some for two hours, and then suddenly you come along calling me a cashew–it’s like maybe I’m starting to look like one! Are you sure you’re not a mind-reading devil?”
“I do have gifts of prophecy.”
She slowly examined the fantasy baseball magazine and the new party shirt I was buying.
“Tell me, mind-reader, what do you think is going to happen when you wear ‘dis out in public?”
“Good things will happen as I will be admired for my confidence.”
She looked stricken.
“Oh, you have done it again! For surely this is the future that our lord God has in mind for you and ‘dis shirt! And what does the future say about your hair? How will your hair be looking in five years?”
“There will be products in the future to enhance the natural vitality of a man’s head of hair.”
“Oh, surely the future is a miraculous place! Praise the Jesus!”
“You know, my gift allows me to see into your soul, too,” I responded.
“ You are a very lucky man, very lucky. Now tell me, what do you see in my soul?”
“I see a woman who wants to do good, who wants to give out a discount, but is scared.”
“Does Mr. Future not see the manager looming? Does he not see that Avila could lose her job if she gave some fool a discount?”
“I am afraid that I do not see any cashews in Avila’s future.”
While bagging my purchases she said, “Oh, I think I will just have to throw myself on the rocks, “ and then she pushed the button calling forth the next person waiting in line.