Comic Con in the Checkout Line

I had picked the slow line.

By the time I realized it, I had put a few items on the conveyor belt and there were people behind me, so it was too late to switch. Kevin had grabbed a last minute item, and when he joined me in line he made a face like, "welp, now we're stuck," and I made the same face back.

We watched the checker talk animatedly about something (Superman maybe?), using his hands a lot as he spoke instead of using them to scan the groceries. The woman ahead of us nodded politely through it all, though she seemed relieved as it finally finished. Then it was our turn. "Here goes," Kevin muttered to me.

"But like I was saying, Batman is a vigilante! He's not a hero. Taking the law into your own hands is not being a hero. He would be a lot more benefit to his community if he used his wealth to build it up."

"Like trickle down economics?" I asked. I couldn't help myself.

"No no no! Nothing like trickle down! Like using his money to build better schools, or outreach programs, or, oh, sorry I interrupted you back there, or better hospitals. Those sorts of things. Just because his parents died didn't mean he needed to turn into a vigilante," he said as he slowly scanned our items.

"Sorry, I know you guys don't care about this, but then there is Captain America, who is a symbol of World War II. Did either of you have grandpas who served in World War II?"

We both shook our heads.

"Korean War?"

We shook our heads again. (Age and health reasons had prevented both.)

"Really? No one? Surely someone in your family did."

"Like great-uncles," Kevin said, to move the conversation along since his hands had paused with the flow of words.

"Right. Sorry, you guys don't care about this . . ." and then he started scanning the items for the next customer.

"Um . . ." we started to say. "Oh, right," he responded as he started helping the bagger bag our items.

"Have a wonderful day," he said as we headed off. I was determined to say nothing or laugh until we got to the car, but Kevin started talking.

"That was a really slow bagger," he said.

"What?"

"Yeah, it wasn't his fault. She was the one who was slowing things down a lot. There was no point to him scanning any faster than that."

"But . . ."

"Yeah, he should have helped her bag. But still."

In that instant, my perception of Comic Con Checker changed. Instead of being a slow, talkative checker, he was a hero, distracting us from the slow bagger by entertaining us. By deflecting our attention from the bagging, he would take the blame for the slowness. Not many people are willing to do that.

And he was probably right about Batman, too.