Boston Lettuce and Flying Birds

I believe there is no more banal a place than the modern grocery store. Nowhere is this more true than the checkout line, where you can look around and see that Carol on the cover of Woman's World lost 11 pounds fast and you can too, or take note of Dr. Phil's nine ways to increase your child's brainpower or that Jessica really is about to divorce Nick (we mean it this time!).

Tonight we stopped at a store in Whitefish to get dinner supplies and some backpacking grub. Trailhead Spouse picked up a tiny head of Boston lettuce. This apparently flummoxed our cashier, a badly bleached blonde named Juanita, who examined it as though it were a Martian rock. "Tim!" she yelled at the gentleman operating the cash register next to her. "What's this?" she demanded, waving our lettuce at him.

Tim, a fastidious looking man with a slight lisp, looked at our lettuce for approximately a tenth of a second, and said with a heavy and put-upon sigh, "it's Boston lettuce, Juanita." He rolled his eyes as he turned away.

Juanita pinched up her face in disgust before elevating her middle finger for several long seconds at Tim's back. "That wasn't meant for you honey," she offered helpfully to Trailhead Spouse.

Okay, it's not high drama. But when it comes to late night at the supermarket, I'll take what I can get.