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It was a Sunday morning. People should be at church. People should not be blocking her way out of the grocery store. People should not have the grocery store backed up for half a mile. Yet here, indeed, people were blocking her way to the cashier with their lines, and she was not even to the gossip rags yet.

The problem was clear: All of the lines were full, so some well-meaning Fast Lane cashier had elected to invite some old woman with a cart full of groceries to her lane. The problem was, the woman had more than one cart of groceries. And now all of the lanes were slammed. And Shahar was standing there behind grandma and her carts, and several other impatient patrons, trying not to make a scene.

Oh, how she wanted to make a scene.

The cashier was trying to be nice. She understood. But would it have been to much to ask that she be nice to someone who wasn't 120 if she was a day, and dragging piles of crap slowly out of her cart, anxiously readjusting things and bitching about her coupons?

Shifting her basket with its 3 items from one hand to the other, Shay was forced to evaluate: Could she drain everyone here before the police were called? How many starseeds could she collect before she had to run away? If she murdered the old woman to get her out of the way, was it murder, or a mercy killing?

Oh dear. She really needed to get to those gossip rags. Her mind was guiding her down some uncharacteristic routes.

There, nearby, was something that she could focus her attention on. A young man, slowly melting into his cart, his entire body vibrating on the frequency of a low whine that Shahar herself could well-understand. the frequency of pain, and boredom, and total despair as the old woman tugged out another coupon, whining to the cashier in her high pitched, slow drawl.

And now, too, the cashier was being further slowed by the inspection of each item, the careful beep, and the old woman nodding that there was no double-scanning, and that no items were skipped. Shahar was going to cry.

And then it came. "Can you price check that?" she heard the woman ask, and Shahar's sob was clear and audible. "The sign said a dollar fifty." The sign said a dollar fifty for a huge box of cereal? Pull the other one.

"Ma'am, this is buy one get one, but-"

"A dollar fifty! I saw it, on the macaroni aisle. The sign under it said a dollar fifty and I have a coupon."

Shahar groaned. "Fast lane my a**," she replied to the mumble of the young man. Her accent was thick with grief. "I can not even get to the gossip magazines without looking like an a**. I am going to die, or shove one of them."

"Do we really wish to risk breaking the hip of the old woman? Then the police and the Emergency Medical people might get involved." Shahar twisted in place to consider the male behind her, with his cart. "But you are tempting me."

Then again, it might be worth it to- "Oh!" she gasped, as one of the carts rolled out of the way and the woman began unloading her last cart. That made the line shorter by about 2 feet. She shuffled forward eagerly, abandoning her compatriot without remorse.

The gossip rags! Shahar grabbed one down, peering at the cover. Angie had been cheating, and Prince William was partying with the boys. "I hate grocery shopping," she confessed to the man as he drew closer. "I normally elect to eat out, but there are some things that are necessities."

Like the booze and coffee beans that were in her own basket. "I will give it 5 minutes before I start shoving old women."

His sigh made her laugh. "It is Sunday. No room for effort. I could be at home right now in my pajamas, playing video games." or watching cartoons. Both of great importance. Certainly much more important than the pack of batteries that lay half-nestled under the coffee beans. And some of her more 'adult' purchases.

"I wish I could just order everything off of Amazon, but there are some purchases..." Shahar shook her head, trying not to look too depressed. "They just are not the same quality." She couldn't stand bad kahvesi, and bad beans led to bad coffee. It was better to be able to see what you were getting.

Ahead of her, the old woman pulled out another coupon bag. Not another coupon, but another baggie. Shahar resisted the urge to scream.

"Yes, I think so?" she peered at the cover, then back at the magazines. "Here." she tugged another one off the rack, and passed it over to him. "Tell me if you see anything particularly incriminating." Oh, hey, that was a celebrity in front of one of the coffeehouses in Destiny City.

Lifting the magazine, she turned it to face him. "Our little town has made it to the big games. I did not know we had paparazzi in Destiny City." then again, she should have. It was not actually a small town, and there were lots of wealthy people, and beautiful people. Models, painters, actors, dancers, businessmen. "We are famous."

Holding out her hand, she added, "Shar, by the way."

"I have never watched that show, but I am quite a fan of the evil Queen- Regina? And the yellow Swan and her Hook. I see the sets come across some of the things I look at on social media." but he was certainly correct in the assessment that.... "Grocery shopping is the worse. Old women are the worst." her voice raised, and she ignored the glare aimed in her direction by aforementioned grandma.

The cafe was one she hadn't been to, but she made a note to try it sometime. "I do not tend to venture out to places like this. A bit fancy for my budget." Especially when so much of her money went to alcohol.

His handshake was firm and his compliment well-received. She beamed at him. "A little bit of London and a lot of Cairo. I appreciate the compliment, Adrien." she released his hand, tilted her head back to the magazine.

"Do you think we are near our five minute mark? Should we begin to aggressively bump the cart?"

It was almost empty, but.... ugh.

Shahar considered the magazine in her hands blankly for a moment, then shrugged. "I have Netflix," she said at last, "I suppose I can start a few episodes if I ever get to go home." she raised her voice a bit higher, and the cashier ducked her head. It was kind of bad; she had not meant to embarrass her, but the grandma was deaf and stupid.

Puffing out air, frustrated, she flipped another page. "What kind of chocolate?" She was very nosy, and peered at his cart curiously. "I agree that buses are-" a pause.

Her head swiveled.

Grandma was swiping a card, and she grabbed at his cart dramatically. "Our years in line, Adrien. They are coming to an end."

Shahar laughed brightly at the younger man's drama. He had her feelings down pat. "Will we? Are you certain?" she shifted to allow him more room to move his cart back and forth, essentially stepping out of the line for him to vroom forward.

Teal eyes considered the chocolate, and she reashed out to lift a three-pack of Ferrero Rocher up off the rack. "I will try that next time. For today, I will get this to go with my kahvesi." but the golden bar was made note of. Shahar tended to try and dig into bite-sized treats when she was feeling like something particularly bitter. The bar didn't mean she could not break it into bite-size pieces, however... Hmmm.

As the man clutched at his cart, Shahar turned around again to eye her. "I think we may be looking at our early to mid sixties. Maybe late fifties if she remembers her PIN number."

He was dancing back and forth with his cart, and Shay was growing hard-pressed not to to the same, swinging her little basket and tap-tap-tapping it against her leg. "I can appreciate your optimism though," she mused, "So many of our generation are losing it to resignation."

Heavy.

"I do not like the coconut version though." Shay played with the candy in her hands, fingers twisting over the little package and listening to the crisp crackle. "It is too... What is the word. Not that it is too sweet, but it lingers unpleasant on the tongue for too long." she considered for a moment, then added, "I do not mind dry chocolate, or bitterness." there was a reason she had something with her kahvesi.

There were other kinds of bitterness she liked as well, but she had never tried to pick someone up in a grocery store.

"You will look better at 50 than she does," she said cheerfully, overly loudly, and the old woman turned her head, glaring. Shahar waved without remorse. "You may even look better at 60, if you can keep from going salt and pepper gray."