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)