A one-off encounter with a stranger who tells you that you are special is an amusement, and mildly flattering in an eerie sort of way. A second encounter, however, is just plain creepy.
On the day after I served the Japanese guy, he came to the store again.
I had been heading for the service/smoke shop area, preparing to drop my belongings off before opening up a checkout, when I bumped into him. He was dressed in all white, including a white baseball cap, and when I noticed him I mentally winced.
‘I had just been thinking about you, and look, here you are,’ he said, looking at me in wonderment.
With a forced smile I replied, ‘Oh really? That’s interesting.’
Silver chains dangle from his neck. On one of them is a crucifix pendant. I thought of how he had said that he was a very spiritual person and at the time I’d thought of Buddhism.
In his hands are several grocery items and he asks me where the olive oil is. Turning my head to look at the signs above, I tell him that cooking oils are in aisle 8. Thinking that our encounter would end there, I glanced at the clock beyond the service desk. Three minutes to eleven thirty. Three minutes until my shift is to start.
He tells me that I’m special. I give a wry smile and hope that we’ve reached the end of the conversation. But no, he spews forth a slew of other questions, mainly about what I’m studying.
Then he asks me when my birthday falls.
I’m terrible at lying on the spot, even when it comes to something as simple as faking a birthdate. It’s kind of like how people are asked their mobile number by someone they don’t want to court and in dishing a random set of numbers they end up giving three digits more than a mobile number contains. So, when he asked, I hesitated and thought to myself that a birthdate isn’t particularly revealing information, and then gave the information – minus the year – to him.
A look of delight, then – ‘Really? That’s amazing, that’s my birthday too!’
I feign surprise. ‘Really? Wow.’
Considering how his birthday was the same as mine, it was rather odd that he then asked what star sign I belong to. Upon supplying it –
‘Ah. Librans are very intelligent and they often have a third sense about things. They can usually learn things much faster than other people can.’
‘Is that right? Good to know I was born with those abilities.’ I looked at the clock again. Twenty-nine past eleven.
‘What’s your phone number?’
I inhaled before replying. ‘Uh, I’m afraid I already have a boyfriend.’
There is no change in his facial expression. ‘No, I’m not after a relationship. I just think you’re very special. And we have the same birthday, isn’t that interesting?’
I struggle to respond. ‘Um, right.’ Fortunately or unfortunately, he talks enough for the both of us.
‘I just think it’s amazing, you know, that I had been thinking about you and then you appeared, you know, and that we share the same birthday.’
A weak laugh. Another glance at the clock.
This time, he notices where I’m looking. ‘Oh, do you have to work soon.’
‘Um, yeah, I’m supposed to be on now at the moment.’ I start sliding off in the direction of the service desk.
‘Ok, sure, and where was the olive oil again?’
‘Aisle 8.’ I point.
‘Good. Ok, I’ll see you at the checkout in a moment, alright?’
‘Uh-huh, see you.’
I flee.
At a few minutes past half past eleven I am finally on checkout. I serve two customers without too many hiccups and bid them goodbye. I am onto my third when I notice him in the line.
He offers a greeting then interrupts me as I’m about to scan his bottle of olive oil.
‘No, don’t scan it. I don’t want my items contaminated by radiation.’
Later, I remember that the first time I served him I had scanned his purchases. But for the time being, I’m too weirded out to think of much at all. I obediently type in the individual numbers below the barcode on the bottle of oil and then repeat this with his other items.
He asks more questions which I don’t give particularly mind-blowing answers to. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask for my number again.
I tell him that his purchases come to fourteen-odd dollars and he begins to count out his money on the conveyor belt. I rush a hand forward to stop him, but the conveyor belt is triggered and it moves, taking the money along with it. I manage to grab his ten dollar note but two coins are lost.
After a few minutes and several attempts to retrieve his money, I tell the Japanese guy that his coins are lost. Irritated, he asks what he’s supposed to do now. He only has fifteen dollars on him.
‘Well,’ I replied, ‘You can leave behind one or two of your items and come back for them…’ Giving the items to him for free is out of the question.
He refuses. ‘I don’t want to do that. My coins are just down there.’
‘Well, if you can get the coins then you can take all of your purchases.’
During the search and our almost heated argument, a frustrated customer takes their items off my conveyor belt and stalks off to another checkout.
The Japanese guy tries his luck, and after some groping around, his fingers manage to grasp the coins. Handing me the three dollars, along with some stringy item that looks like a dried shred of a spring onion, his face relaxes. He reassumes his mask of mellowed-outness.
‘That was interesting, wasn’t it? I mean, what are the chances, right?’ He stares at me while he chuckles.
At this point, I don’t want to say anything more to him than I have to. Thinking of all the other customers who have lost credit cards, change, and even a thin package of chocolate down the conveyor belt, I replied briefly, ‘Yeah, very strange,’ then give him his receipt.
He doesn’t want a bag, so he leaves holding his purchases in his hands. He tells me that he’ll return again very soon.
.
.
The next day, I tell the customer services manager about the Japanese guy. She listens for a while then says that if he comes back I can call for her and she’ll serve him.
I wonder if he’ll tell her that she’s special too.
Behind the Checkout 