My grocery buddy

Cala Foods, as supermarkets go, is a nice place. Yes, I realize that it’s part of Ralph’s mega-conglomerate grocery chain, but at the same time, I don’t mind it all that much. The prices are all right and the selection is good. But really there’s this one woman I’ve come to start calling my Buddy.
The first time I went there, a woman in front of me had though she lost her Club Card (thing you need to get the savings they advertise) and got a bit haughty about it. No doubt, she was from a bit further up the Hill and was of the opinion that the help had misplaced her card. After a bit of a search, the cashier, this funny, short woman, pointed to her card right underneath her wallet. The woman didn’t say much, but put her card back in her wallet. The woman working the register started to chastise her and while it was well deserved, the cashier kept going on about it. It went from deserved, to funny, to ludicrous, to a bit uncomfortable, to just weird. As the woman left and I queued up, the cashier smiled at me and started checking out my order.
At first I was a bit concerned the Grocery Nazi was going to jump down my case for doing something wrong, just like she had to the woman in front of me. But, as she went along, she kept ringing up my food. She started to joke with me about the food I was getting and laughing at the amount of mustard I was buying (I’m a mustard fiend, I admit it) I walked out once done.
Since that first initial encouter, I’ve had this woman as a cashier most of the times I go back. I’m not sure if she remembers me or not, but she always jokes with me. Yesterday, she was asking in he broken english if a whole medium frozen pizza was one meal or two for me. I admitted, almost embarassed by the fact, that it was one, to which she laughed.
I believe that in addition to my personal grocery buddy, I have found a culinary priest to listen to my digestive sins.