Courtesy by Kim Magowan and Michelle Ross

At the checkout line, I wave ahead a woman who clutches nothing but a bottle of shampoo. She doesn’t say thank you, but she does smile gratefully, so I’m not too bothered by the omission. But then she and the elderly cashier get to chatting. About courtesy, of all things.

“Did you hear what that man said to me?” the cashier says. She explains that the prior customer complained because the woman ahead of him forgot that she needed a pint of heavy cream and asked the cashier if she minded if she ran to retrieve it. “So of course I said, ‘You go right ahead.’ And the man behind her practically had a fit!”

The shampoo lady shakes her head. “Some people.”

By this point, I have nearly finished unloading my haul onto the conveyer belt, or at least everything that will fit. That shampoo bottle still occupies a disproportionate portion of the conveyer. Between it and the section divider is ample, unclaimed territory—the shampoo a lone turret, my groceries the crowded slums. What remains in my cart is mostly produce—carrots, onions, potatoes, and a bag of green grapes that I will wash and then freeze because I like how frozen grapes feel in my mouth, like cold, smooth stones.

The cashier says then, “Are you a member?”

The shampoo lady is not.

“You could save a dollar if you sign up.” The cashier digs around in a drawer for the form.

Neither woman seems to notice me, which makes me wonder if I’m on one of those hidden camera shows. At any moment, Ashton Kutcher will appear and inform me I’ve been punk’d.

“That’s so thoughtful,” says the shampoo lady when the cashier hands her a form. She did not say it was so thoughtful of me to wave her ahead in line. She did, of course, flash me that smile, but the smile she now bestows upon the cashier is significantly higher wattage, as if saving her a dollar is a much worthier act of generosity than my allowing her to cut in line.

The unspoken rule of accepting a cut in line, of course, is that you don’t then waste time filling out forms or running to get cream. You are courteous.

“Every dollar counts, especially these days!” says the cashier. “Now let me see if I have a pen.”

The people who’d lined up behind me have all since switched to another checkout line. I could do the same, but packing my groceries back into my cart when all that physically lies in the way of getting out of this store is a shampoo bottle feels ridiculous and pouty. Also, a gamble, right? I’ve played this game before and lost.

As I look around, trying to draw subtle attention to myself, the shampoo lady finally turns toward me. She emits a quick “Sorry.” Her smile suggests she has done me a kindness, but the proffered sorry is paltry, a penny dropped into one of those “Take a penny, leave a penny” trays you sometimes see at gas stations and Chinese restaurants. Also, that’s my penny, I think. You can’t take my change, then give me back one measly cent and expect gratitude.

So I don’t acknowledge her. I text my friend Lydia about this outrageous situation. Lydia replies immediately. Ugh, she texts. People are the worst. This makes me smile.

That’s when shampoo lady says “sorry” again, only this time “sorry” isn’t a penny but a hammer. This startles me. I look up, meet her eyes, which make me think of frozen grapes.

The gall, I think. But also, shampoo lady’s sarcastic sorry delights me. I can’t wait to tell Lydia about this.

Kim Magowan lives in San Francisco and teaches in the English Department of Mills College at Northeastern University. She is the author of the short story collection Don’t Take This the Wrong Way, co-authored with Michelle Ross, forthcoming from EastOver Press; the short story collection How Far I’ve Come (2022), published by Gold Wake Press; the novel The Light Source (2019), published by 7.13 Books; and the short story collection Undoing (2018), which won the 2017 Moon City Press Fiction Award. Her fiction has been published in Colorado Review, The Gettysburg Review, Smokelong Quarterly, Wigleaf, and many other journals. Her stories have been selected for Best Small Fictions and Wigleaf’s Top 50. She is the Editor-in-Chief and Fiction Editor of Pithead Chapel.

Michelle Ross is the author of three story collections: There’s So Much They Haven’t Told You, winner of the 2016 Moon City Short Fiction Award; Shapeshifting, winner of the 2020 Stillhouse Press Short Fiction Award (2021); and They Kept Running, winner of the 2021 Katherine Anne Porter Prize in Short Fiction (2022). Don’t Take This the Wrong Way, a story collection she cowrote with Kim Magowan, is forthcoming from EastOver Press. Her work is included in Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction, the Wigleaf Top 50, and the Norton anthology, Flash Fiction America. It’s received special mention in the Pushcart Prize anthology. She is an Editor at 100 Word Story.