“Wow, you’re tall,” says the withered, gray lady at the other side of the check out lane.

I wish I could snap: Oh really? I had no clue. But with my customer service smile plastered like a freshly covered hole in a wall, I say, “I know!”

What is she expecting? Does she think I don’t know? I collect her coins and cash. The register drawer jumps and hits my kneecap. I take a breath and shove it shut with my leg.

“Thank you! Have a great rest of your day!” I say,  giving the woman her change.

Nothing. She had the energy to note how tall I am, but not to be a decent human being and mutter a “thank you” or maybe even a “you too”?

I watch the hands of the clock walk in slow motion for hours. It seems like they are reenacting the tortoise and the hare in slow motion.

“Break time!” Jenny, who is as short as a munchkin, exclaims from the service desk.

I start to walk away when I hear. “Hey, hey, hey, buddy! You need to adjust your screen. How do you think I am going to reach that?” I stop in my tracks.

The screen screws slip and it crashes against the conveyor belt. No worries – this is part of my daily routine; the screens are durable. I reattach the screen and tighten the screw. I place the bags on the lower rack, and make sure that the screen is adjusted for the customer’s height, or lack thereof. There goes a minute of my minuscule 15-minute break.

I strut through the deli section like a lion looking for prey.

“He’s taller than you, daddy!” a young girl yells with her finger extended.

“Here we go again,” I mutter under my breath. Has anyone taught that girl how to use her manners?

I plaster on the customer service smile and laugh along.