Shaky Cashier

I would love to go somewhere else, but fate has drawn me here. Any other register, please. The universal bonds that unite us, the strings that drive our lives have been played and manipulated until we would stand here face to face. And like a wizard that lives outside of the constraints of our reality, he gazes upon this world as if he knows this, perhaps had something to do with this.

I place my Slim Jim and pint of orange juice on the counter.

ME: Hey, what’s up man?

He pauses for some millennia, drawing my attention in with sniper like patience. Stars die, worlds collapse and angels get drunk. God, the shaky cashier, as he must be or may be greater than, rocks from one side of the universe to the other. His chin remains in the air and he is kind enough to cast his eyes upon me.

CASHIER: Mmrrrf. Good. That will be $2.38.

I hand him my debit card.

CASHIER: Debit or Credit?

ME: Credit.

CASHIER: Mmrrf.

He hands me my receipt.

ME: Thanks.

I look into the sorcerer’s eyes, waiting for him to answer me back. In time dogs evolve the ability to speak and California smashes into Asia.

CASHIER: Yur… Welcome.

I wait for the bones of discarded Buffalo Wings to form into diamonds.

ME: Are you retarded?

CASHIER: Mmrff. NO!

ME:  Brain damage from huffing too much paint and glue?

CASHIER: Mmrrff. Yes.