Huge turkey cutouts and banners announce Thanksgiving specials at the Winn-Dixie grocery store where David is shopping. Inside, the checkout girl processes his grocery cart. Already half unloaded and scanned are a large bag of M&M’s, potato chips, two bunches of bananas, a huge jar of mayonnaise and two loaves of white bread. The bag girl looks at the checkout girl with an amused expression. She says:
“Looks like someone likes banana sandwiches – or has a pet monkey!”
David is still unloading his cart.
“I love banana sandwiches. I could live on ‘em, really live on ‘em.”
The bag girl responds sotto voce, “Looks like you do!”
Next the checkout girl pulls a huge turkey from the cart. She rings it up and wonders aloud.
“Thank goodness these don’t come in bunches! I guess one’s enough, eh?”
“Oh, that’s not all for me, not all for me,” David says. “I’m having my friends over for Turkey Day dinner, over for dinner tomorrow.”
“You must have lots of friends,” says the checkout girl.
David is hesitant.
“Uh, well, my mom said get a large turkey and roast it for a few hours or something. I want to have enough.”
“Right!” beams the checkout girl. “How many will you be serving?”
David looks up, thinking. He silently counts “one to four” by opening out the fingers of one hand. Then he does the same with the other hand, keeping the first hand open.
The checkout girl nods knowingly.
“Eight,” she says.
“No, uh, four,” David says. “Four altogether, including me, of course.”
The two girls look at each other, suppressing laughs.
“You should have a few sandwiches left!” says the checkout girl.
The bag girl is giggling.
“For the summer!” she mutters to herself.
“Okay, what’s next?” asks the checkout girl.
From a second cart David pulls some shrink-wrapped pasta and a five-pound bag of Irish potatoes.
“Starches,” he says. “Mom said to serve starches with turkey.”
The bag girl inquires, “Your mom is helping, then?”
“Well, yes, sort of. I called her back home. She gave me these recipes, these great recipes. You know, set the oven to four-fifty. Cook for twenty minutes a pound. Always stab potatoes before you ‘nuke’ ‘em. Stuff like that.”
“Those were her recipes?” asks the checkout girl, incredulous.
“Yeah. I think she got them out of a book. She never really cooked. Our maid did the cooking. But mom wants to be helpful now that I’m away and on my own.”
The checkout girl just shakes her head and looks at the register.
“That comes to forty-seventy-six total.”
David pulls his wallet out and asks, “Forty-seventy-six even?”
The checkout girl reviews the printout.
“Uh, yes,” she says. “Forty-seventy-six, uh, even.”
David produces his wallet and prepares to pay. But then he stops, remembering something.
“Oops, sorry,” he says. “I almost forgot dessert. Could you tell me which aisle I’ll find chocolate cake on?”
The checkout girl replies.
“Ch- chocolate cake and turkey,” she says, as she nods slowly. “Yes, sir. Try our bakery,” she points, “right over there.”
“Gee, thanks,” David beams. “Can’t have a holiday without chocolate cake, without good old, delicious chocolate cake!”
He heads for the bakery. The two employees look at each other and burst out laughing.
“Oh-mi-god!” they both exclaim, wide-eyed and shaking their heads.