Ode To A Cashier

[Note from Al: I recommend you read the "preamble" below (in the previous post) ... either before or after reading the poem.]

I think I blew it.
I’m sure I did.
A bad impression, I’ll bet,
Is what I gave you
When I did phone.
(Now, I doubt a date I’ll get.)

I meant to say
I wanted to
Get together and chat sometime.
To get to know
Yourself, I’m sure,
Would be a pleasure sublime.

Instead, my words
Came out all wrong
And said not what I wanted them to.
So now I’ll try
To make them right.
(Now, if only the right words I knew!)

For two months now
Or thereabouts,
I’ve been doing my shopping each day.
I purchase milk
Or eggs or bread,
Then say, “Bye!” and I’m on my way.

Then, on the trip
Back home again,
I kick myself in the butt.
“You twit!” I say.
“You missed your chance.
What are you – some kind of nut?”

It’s just that I’m
Not often sure
What the best thing to say might be.
And, as it works out,
The best thing to say
Is rarely the thing said by me.

I’m getting off track –
I wanted to say
That I find you so very attractive.
(Darn, now I can’t think
Of a word to rhyme –
Guess my mind’s not sufficiently active!)

At any rate,
The point is this –
If we got to know each other,
You never know –
You might decide
That you want me to meet your Mother.

I’m getting ahead
Excuse me, please.
There’s no need to rush this, at all.
But, if you would like
To meet for a java,
Please feel free – anytime – to call.

I really will try
To make all my words
Come out in a logical way
And try not to let
Your beauty upset
The things I endeavor to say.

My name’s in the book –
My number, too.
I’ll wait at the end of the line.
And, if you decide
You’d like dinner instead,
That’s okay – I cook pretty fine!

Whatever your choice,
Please bear in mind
(And I really can’t stress this, enough)
I’m sure that you
Will like me, too,
Once you’ve heard all the lovable stuff.

- copyright Al Henderson

written Summer of 1986 or ‘87
- title added years later

Epilogue

So the hopeless (ie: pathetic) romantics are probably wondering how long the ensuing relationship lasted.

The more realistic folks might assume better.

I never heard from her.

Nor did I ever see her again!

I was so devasted and embarassed by the whole thing ... I switched to another store, altogether.

Fast forward a couple years.

I was training a small group of women for a regional bodybuilding competition. Turned out one of the gals was the older sister of that cashier.

"Really?" I asked. "So ... does she still have that poem?"

"No..." was the reply. "But my Mom does.
SHE just LOVES it!"

Go figger.

Ode To A Cashier:

A brief explanatory preamble...

You might call this one of my earliest attempts at writing "sales copy" ... 'cause I was trying to "sell" this girl on ME.

This is, of course, presented here just for fun. Hopefully, it'll bring a smile to your lips ... if not a chuckle to your belly.

So ... the true, embarassing, and painful (at the time, anyhow) story behind this poem:

I wrote this around 1986 0r '87. I was in my late 20s, and living in a small saw- and pulp-mill town in north-central British Columbia, Canada.

And there was this one EXCEPTIONALLY cute gal working as a cashier in the grocery store I frequented. But...

I was TOTALLY subdued around her. I just couldn't talk. Oh, sure ... I could talk about my groceries ... the weather ... almost anything but the idea of "getting together socially". (No, I would NEVER have used those actual words!)

Every time I made up my mind to try, I would chicken-out the moment I got up to her till. One day, though...

One day, I decided "THIS is the day!" I was going to FORCE myself out of my shyness and ask her out! (Yes, I realise the grocery store checkout line is a dumb place to ask for a date ... but I never SAW her anywhere else.)

I stepped up with my groceries (which I didn't need and only picked up as a reason to go through her line), tried to force myself into a state of bravery, and ... was reduced to near-babbling.

OH! I felt like such a fool. If I'd had a tail, it would've been firmly lodged between my legs as I paid and left. The whole walk home was "grey and blue". (Mutter, mutter ... curse, curse ... fume, fume.)

When I got home, I tried again. I actually PHONED her at work ... and was once again reduced to a babbling IDIOT!

So, running on "auto-pilot", I grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote the poem on the next page. I say "I wrote" ... but it was truly a case of "automatic writing". Upon finishing, I had NO idea what I had just scribed, until I read it back.

I rewrote it neatly ... folded it neatly ... put it neatly into an envelope ... neatly wrote her name on the envelope ... drove back to the store (neatly) ... put it in her hand and left. (Even before reading it, she likely thought, "WIERD guy". )

Okay, then ... if you're ready, here's the poem, in the next post. (followed by an Epilogue)