High Life, Low Prices

The cashier says a case of Miller High Life will set you back ten dollars and change.

Her customer says there’s a sign advertising a case for eight dollars and change.

A lackluster debate ensues. She has her story, he has his.

We need a price check, but nobody responds to her page. She leaves the register to go check.

The man turns around and tells me, “She’s wrong, you’ll see.”

I shrug, not wanting to take sides.

She returns and says her original price was right. He makes a big speech about how he buys a case of Miller High Life every other day, how it’s always eight dollars and change, and how there’s a sign up advertising that price.

She folds her arms.

“But I’ll take your word for it,” he says. “I don’t want to be a dick and keep the guy behind me waiting.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He fires off a salute in my direction. Then he opens his wallet, which is when we encounter problem number two: he only has hundreds, and she can’t break anything larger than a twenty.

Clearly, I am not shopping at the champagne of convenience stores.

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