I went to the grocery store today. The computer that powers the cash register crashed right at the end of my purchase, once everything was all bagged up and ready to go. This entailed three employees making calls to figure out what to do, because my weekly grocery purchase was hanging in the balance.

After about 10 minutes, the supervisor, whose name tag said Marilyn, said she would have to go through and ring me up again. I suggested that this was not a cool thing to do to a customer. She got defensive. I followed her to an empty checkout line and unbagged all my groceries, then helped her rebag them after she had rechecked everything.

I was given a $5 gift card as an apology, which seems a bit silly. But it didn’t seem like that was the hill I wanted to die on, so I accepted the card with a sigh. As I took the card, Marilyn congratulated me. “You did really well,” she said. “I could tell you were about to get upset, but you brought yourself back down.”

Oh, Marilyn. If you only knew. Three daily estrogen supplements and $25K in debt by the end of the month (and that’s with an aggressive repayment plan in place since September) are making me contemplate things like throwing overly ripe avocados at small children the produce aisle. Or, there are towers of display items that really ought to get knocked down. You know, just… knock ’em down. Yell like a banshee and plunge yourself into the big pyramid of Cheeze-Its. Scream bloody murder and send piles of Nabisco products flying from the endcap.

But on the flip side: just a couple years ago I would have taken it out a bit more on poor Marilyn. Hell, I might have stuck it out for a $10 gift card.

But that’s what two-plus years of infertility will do for ya. The Cheeze-Its remained untouched.

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