“Will those women ever stop gossiping? Don't they know that here are people waiting behind them, waiting to go through the check out too?” Mr. Miller was thinking that he had surely picked the wrong cashier.
It was the week of Thanksgiving and the store was full of shoppers. Lines were long and patience was a rare commodity. But most shoppers were in the holiday spirit, smiling and talking to the cashiers as they passed the items through the scanner.
“We are having our daughters and son this year. It will be so nice to have them all home together again.” Debbie was telling the cashier, her church buddy, about the upcoming dinner. “I am going to make a cherry and pump...”
“Could you try to go a little faster please? I am really in a hurry!” Mr. Miller's voice was tense as he glared at the two women ahead of him.
“Sir, I am going as fast as I can. Please be patient.” Rhonda, the cashier was used to nervous people.
“Well, if you would talk less and focus on what you are doing, maybe you could take care of others faster!” Mr. Miller was now raising his voice.
“Sir, she is doing the best that she can, and I am doing most the talking, not her. There is no need to raise your voice.” Debbie was being polite and calm as she spoke.
Mr. Miller just glared at the two women, tapping his fingers on the grocery cart and checking his watch.
“So, I am baking cherry and pumpkin pies this year. My son just loves cherry pie. How is your mother doing, Rhonda?” Debbie was digging out her credit card to pay.
“Well, she will be with us for our dinner. She got out of the hosp...”
“Okay! Enough with the chit-chat! Do your job now! Others are waiting!” Mr. Miller was almost yelling now.
“Hey! You need to calm down sir!” Debbie was putting her card away as she spoke. “We are done now. It's your turn. Bye Rhonda. Have a great Thanksgiving.” Debbie smiled at Mr. Miller as she walked away.
“It's about time! I am going to complain to your manager!” Mr. Miller was glaring at Rhonda. Rhonda just smiled and asked him if he had found everything that he had been looking for.
Two days later, Mr. Miller found himself at the VA clinic, waiting for a prostate exam. He was getting angry because of the waiting and because his regular doctor was away on vacation. “Why do they always have to be behind in their schedule?” His thoughts were turning to mild rage as he fretted over his “bad treatment.”
“Mr. Miller, it's your turn.” The nurse showed Mr. Miller to the exam room, where he undressed, laid down on the table, and covered himself with a sheet, as instructed. His eyes were shut when the doctor entered the room.
“Well, Mr. Miller, are we ready to get that prostrate examined?” The voice was a woman's voice. Mr. Miller opened his eyes and saw a latex covered hand, and behind the hand was Dr. Debbie.
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