Zip, snap, click, snap, zip

That’s the sound I heard holding three items in a ten-item checkout line. But what followed was anything but express. 

It was the sound a purse makes in the hands of the woman at the front of my line. I’ve come to recognize it as the well-choreographed mating dance that must be performed before the transaction can be consummated.

There are hours of my life that I will never get back as the result of these one-woman performances.  One time, I was once able to celebrate my birthday, Easter and the anniversary of Elivs’ death before the performance came to a merciful close.

The Greatest Show on Earth

In this particular performance, the curtain opens with the phenom unbuckling the front flap of her purse after first calling attention to the attached photo keychain that featured her three children—ages 5, 8 and 12, which she shared with the clerk.

Watching the two customers in the checkout next to me complete their transactions, the second movement of her dance began. Unzipping one of the compartments inside, she titillated us by revealing the “secret” place where several units of exchange were stored. As an added treat, the hiding place was a combination of zips and snaps—this woman was a professional.

While mentally shuffling back the rest of my day’s schedule, I braced myself to take in this woman’s real artistry—selecting just the right dance partner to pay for the purchase. As a seasoned viewer of shopping theatre-macabre, I knew she had three choices:

• Paper- If purchasing with paper, she’ll reach past the hand sanitizer and undereye cream to pull out a color-coordinated billfold. After undoing its own snap and zipper, she’d dig deep into one of its folds to pull out the needed dollar bill while rearranging the remaining bills into ascending denomination.
• Coin - Luckily most purchases require coinage to complete the transaction. That allows the performer to integrate the spoken word into the ritual. Usually, it’s a variation of, “Wait a minute, I think I have some change.” That allows her to search for the coin purse after having first pulled out discarded gum wrappers. Here’s where the classic metal clasp can punctuate a performance with its distinctive click. First count the correct change mentally and repeat the chorus by then counting it aloud for the clerk, one coin at a time holding us audience members in catatonic suspense.
• Plastic - Paying with plastic offers another choice. Past yet another zipper to the “they’ll never look in here” compartment, she’ll reach for the animal-print credit card folio. For added security, this one requires a full gainer to open the special zipper that spans three of its four sides, as she rotates the folio around to open each side. For dramatic effect, the woman will fan each card out as she selects the right one then put the rest back in their place.

I was in luck. This performer started with paper and then pirouetted into the coin routine—to make it easier for the clerk. She gave her all. Unfortunately for those of us behind her, it was the gift that kept giving and giving and giving. I contemplated breaking out the shaving cream in my basket to address my five o’clock shadow, growing more prominent with each hour that passed.

And For My Final Number

As the clerk from the neighboring checkout line came back from her lunch break, our performer’s finale began—replaying the entire ritual in reverse order. She rezipped the billfold, clicked shut the coin purse and resnapped the card folio. She returned each to its rightful compartment, one at a time like members of a ballet troupe rushing into the wings.

That left her alone on stage illuminated with a single spotlight while she executed a paux-de-deux with the clerk about what else she has planned for the day.

Then spoke her final line as a stage whisper, “Well, I guess I should let you wait on your other customers.” With that, she closed the flap on her purse like a curtain coming down on another tour-de-force. Exit stage right.

I left the theatre, I mean the store, emotionally drained and intellectually bereft. I could always go to the doctor another day. I’m sure my fever will break soon anyway.

Prologue

My advice to my fellow consumers the next time you hear “zip, snap, click, snap, zip” in the express line, turn off all cellular equipment and take note of where the emergency exits are located. The show’s about to begin and you’re going to need to find one, quick.

When "Love" Isn’t Enough

My Mom was the kind of person who never sent a greeting card without first underlining the words in it that she wanted to emphasize.

As far back as I can remember, my birthday cards, graduation cards, Valentine ’s Day cards, May Day cards, Easter cards, first-day-of-school cards (okay, Mom sent a lot of cards), came with these little rhinestoned words that bejeweled her greeting.

It might be words like “special,”  “thank you,” “means so much,” or “favorite” (but so were my seven other siblings).  In one first-day-of-summer card, she underlined the words, “you are my fairy princess.” While it went with the glittery Cinderella on the cover, I wondered if my preppy-pink polo phase had maybe run its course. Turns out she put the wrong card in the envelope. But to this day, I still get a warm feeling whenever I try on a new shoe.

Over the years, I learned that her punctuated words weren’t random but part of an elaborate set of rules. For example, the word, “love” required at least two underlines.  The same applied to the “X” in “XOXO.” As she got older, the convention was updated to triple underlines. 

Not to be confined by just the underline, her stylebook also included other punctuation. The recipient’s name must always appear in quotes at the beginning of the inside copy. The exclamation point is permissible (frankly mandatory) after the last sentence. Emoticons should never appear in the margins—“Why would you ruin such a nice reading,” she’d remark.

It wasn’t as though this was the only way I knew how she felt. I was lucky enough to hear her say it too. Underlines were just her special way of emphasizing what I knew already. Like how after she’d squeeze three times before letting go of your hand after the Sign of Peace at mass. I knew I was special.

These days I feel a little deflated when I get a card without any underlines. So I’m carrying on the tradition. Every time I do, I hear her voice between each quotation mark, feel her three-squeeze handhold in the exclamation mark and see her smile with each underscore.

And I’m happy to announce that the tradition will not die with me either. My son has adopted the wearin’ of the underline in his own cards too. He recognizes particularly heartfelt prepositions like “for,” “with,” or “of.”

He’s so “special.”