Someone Like Me

I'm at a grocery store.  It's around lunchtime on a sunday, and I want my deli potato salad and root beer in my belly, so I can go back to killing indiscriminate numbers of reavers in Skyrim.  Because they're not going to kill themselves, people.

The cashier takes a long look at me.  "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Um.  Maybe?  I suck at remembering faces, sorry."

"Do you workout?"

I choke a little, biting back a laugh.  Me?  Work out?  I wear a women's size small t-shirt.  If I were to be in a movie, I'd play the guy that gets sand kicked in his face at the beginning of "Charles Atlas:  The Gay Musical".  Instead of laughing in her face, though, I lie.

"Um.  Sometimes, I guess?  Why?"

"Do you work out at the YMCA?"

Is this a gay reference?  Does she expect me to dress up like a construction worker?  "Um.  No, I don't work out there."

"Are you sure?"

"Depends.  Are you a cop?"


"I'm joking."

"Oh.  Um...."  

I'm losing her.  As in, she's stopped ringing through my delicious potato salad, and is now trying to figure things out.  "Don't worry about it."  

"It's funny.  There's someone there who looks just like you."

"Really, like me?"


"Bet you I can guess what he looks like," I say, as smarmily as possible.

"Um...." This girl does not get my sense of humour.  Or how a barcode scanner works.

"So, yeah, he's tall, black, and muscular.  Am I right?"

"No, he's about average height, super skinny, and has red hair....."

"You know what?  I'm gonna pay with debit."

I got home, told the reavers, and they laughed and laughed.  At least, 'til I Fos Rah Dah'd their asses off a cliff.

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