"You just don't like anybody, do you?" he says, presumably from watching my transaction with the douchebag ahead of him.
"Pretty much," I say in a retarded girl voice that escaped my mouth without consulting my conscious mind.
"I bet you don't even like me," says Brad.
"I like you!" I squeal in my retarded Minnie Mouse voice.
He smiles. Says thank you, and saunters off with his Winston Light 100's.
I like you? I felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing. Why didn't I just say, "I carried a watermelon." Complete abortion. I was supposed to say something sultry and witty and we were supposed to have sex on the conveyer belt. I was then going to say "I don't think we're right for eachother Brad. We're two different people. Why don't you stand on your own two feet for a change blah blah blah" whilst puting my vest back on and returning to work.