There's nowhere to hide in the checkout line
LORI CLINCH Are We There Yet?
Every so often an individual finds himself or herself with the need to go to a super center to make a special purchase.

I went to make just such an acquisition the other day. Since I had a few extra minutes and my cart was full, I thought to myself, what a grand time to make a special purchase!

I picked up a few other essentials, grabbed a few T-shirts for my boys and looked down the aisle where I knew that my "special purchase" was located. Unfortunately, that section of the super center was quite populated, so I moved in closer and pretended to look at a display of Dr. Scholl's shoe pads.

I couldn't help but pat myself on the back for my discretion as I pretended to contemplate corn pads while selecting my special purchase from afar. Suddenly, the entire section of the super center cleared. I swung in, as if on a rope, grabbed my special purchase, stuck it in between the T-shirts in my cart and swung back out without skipping a beat.

Checking my T-shirt pile every few seconds to make certain that my special purchase was completely covered, I made my way to the self-checkout registers. When my turn came, I stacked my items on the conveyer belt and placed the Tshirts front and center so that I could get my purchase out of the way and in a sack as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, an old friend whom I had not seen in at least 10 years appeared at my side. "Lori!" she said with a smile, "Long time no see. How've you been? I'm in one line and my daughter is in another and we're trying to see which line moves faster, so how fast are you?"

"Slow," I answered with disbelief that she was there, "slower than molasses."

As she began to chitchat about kids and sports and life in general, I began to poke at my T-shirt pile to ascertain where my special purchase might be. It was not buried in the first T-shirt, so I grabbed it, quickly scanned it and dropped it in the sack. I did the same with the second T-shirt and then reached for the third. Feeling reasonably certain that it was not in that T-shirt either, I took it and quickly pulled it off the heap.

Much to my dismay, grabbing this Tshirt caused the special purchase item to come out of the pile. It not only came out of the pile, but it flew up into the air as if it was making a launch for the moon. It must have been at least 10 feet off the ground when it became suspended in midair. Suddenly, all of the lights in the super center went out and a spotlight came out of the sky and shone brightly on the special purchase.

Trust me when I say that the item just hung there in midair for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, via the gravitational pull, my special purchase began its long descent back to the earth and with all eyes upon it, it landed on the floor with a plunk, smack dab in the center of four checkout lanes.

The world fell silent, the general population ceased movement, and I swear that for just a moment the Earth stopped spinning as everyone in the super center looked down at my special purchase and then, following their good, hard look, turned to look at me.

Any woman who could think on her feet would have spun on her heels and pretended not to notice the special purchase item that had just dropped out of the sky. But oh no! Not me. No sir. Rather than turning my back and pretending that items such as these plummet to the earth all the time, I jumped like a cat, moved through the crowd, snatched up the package and without taking a step, scanned the said item and threw it into a sack.

I then turned and looked at my old friend. Would she be sympathetic to my plight? Would she help me in my hour of need? Would she pat me on the back and say, "Atta girl, way to make a special purchase!"? Oh, shoot no! Instead of offering any support of any type, she smiled at me weakly and said, "I think my daughter's line is moving faster than yours," and then bolted from the area.

Walking to the car with a neon sign flashing over my cart that read "Just made a special purchase!," I maneuvered my way through the parking lot and to the car as the world looked on.

Next time, my beloved spouse can buy the stinking Metamucil.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.