Five. Minutes, that is. Only five minutes until the stand can be shut off and the standee can go home.
Per every scrumptious-smelling lunch rings up, his field of thought becomes more like a tunnel, narrowing until all he can think about is a hearty meal. Excitement ensues, but logical thinking becomes clouded. A senile woman pays for her groceries, using a credit card, in lieu of her trusty checkbook. The line behind her grows as she fails to follow instructions. He releases a sigh of relief as she completes the transaction, moves on to the next customer, and apologizes for the wait. His simple statement invokes a completely unexpected response from the new customer: “It’s ok, we’ll all be like her one day.”
Suddenly, his tunnel-like perspective turns into a perspective like that of a shuttle pilot on a mission – holistic and solemn. Lunch seems not to matter anymore as the rush of unpleasant feelings ensues.
‘Me? Become slow and senescent?’ he thinks to himself, ‘never.’ His stage of denial serves no purpose, however, as a cold feeling hits him dead in the stomach. These feelings transcend any desire for appetite that he has. Appetite is no longer in the realm of the present when he thinks about the inevitable.
Another supermarket warrior helps remaining customers in line at another checkstand. *Beep* “Will this chicken be all for you today?” The smell was all it took to snap his mind back into primal mode. Suddenly the idea of lunch never seemed better.
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