Lessons From Ducks Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoulder.
    “It’s hardly my fault,” she protested to Betty.
    “I never said it was.”
    The supervisor – Irene, according to her own badge - arrived and listened as Betty explained the problem. She looked at Anna, eyes narrowed.
    “They didn’t put a sticker on it?” she asked, her tone suggesting her belief that Anna had removed the sticker herself.
    “I guess not.”
    She sucked in her breath sharply. “That’s not like them.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. “They always put the stickers on, don’t they Betty.”
    “They sure do.”
    “Well, clearly not always ,” Anna pointed out.
    They both looked at her as if she had insulted the entire workforce of the supermarket. “Look, maybe it came unstuck and ended up on something else.” Anna suggested, turning over a few of her other items patiently waiting their turn on the conveyor belt. “Look, here it is,” she held up a can of baked beans triumphantly, the offending sticker stuck to the side of it. The cashier and the supervisor exchanged knowing looks, as if to say, ‘see, this crazy lady planned it all along for attention’.
    “I didn’t move it,” Anna said, hand over heart.
    “Mmm.”
    The supervisor hustled off. The cashier continued scanning.
    “No really, I didn’t.”
    “That will be thirty four dollars and seventy six cents.”
    Anna swiped her card through the eftpos machine, entered her account and pin number and tried to protest her innocence one final time. “Honestly, it must have come loose in the basket. I’m sure it happens all the time.”
    “Here is your receipt, have yourself a nice evening.”
    Betty the cashier passed over her bag of groceries and in a clear sign of dismissal turned to the next customer. “Sorry about the delay,” she apologised to him, a man in his forties buying a box of beer and a packet of sanitary pads.
    “That’s quite alright. I know it wasn’t your fault,” he replied.
    “It wasn’t my fault either,” Anna clutched her bag to her chest, reluctant to leave until her innocence was proven.
    “Had a good day then?” Betty chirped to the man. Her personality had seemed to undergo a transplant in the last two minutes and Anna struggled to reconcile her with the grumpy old goat who had served her.
    “Not bad, can’t complain thanks. Of course it’s getting better now I’m on my way home,” he gestured towards the box of beer, “hahaha.”
    “Haha,” Betty agreed.
    Anna wondered if a black hole had opened up and swallowed her where she stood. She leant forward and waved a hand experimentally in Betty’s line of vision. Betty frowned in annoyance but otherwise didn’t acknowledge her.
    Anna gave up.
    As she walked the rest of the way home, her purchases heavy and the plastic straps of the bag cutting red welts into her arms so she had to stop every few minutes to readjust, she pondered just what it was about her that had set Betty off on the wrong foot. She’d been nice, hadn’t she? She’d tried to make pleasant small talk, as she always felt compelled to do with people in the customer service industry. Anna had always been slightly baffled by the sort of person who could order a coffee, try on shoes or purchase a new car without barely a cursory word spoken. Over the years she’d lined up in queues and watched, a little appalled, as the person ahead of her demanded their double trim lightly whipped full cream macchiato, or something along those lines, without any eye contact or simple pleasantries exchanged whatsoever.
    Anna was not one of those people. She had been raised to always look the waitress/salesperson/cashier straight in the eye, smile broadly, and enquire as to their health/day/life or comment on either their delightful name/choice of outfit. It was just in her nature. Somewhere along the way though the shoe had skipped over to the other foot and now it was perfectly acceptable behaviour for the waitress/salesperson/cashier to