On Sunday mornings I have the habit of walking to the store for the Sunday papers, and perhaps some bagels if we are all feeling as if we could use a little smackerel to go with our morning tea.
I picked up four papers: two local, two urban. (No bagels today, thank you.) When scanning the second of the papers at the self-checkout, the lady who manned the self-checkout station said, That one doesn't scan. Just do whatever with it and I'll enter it.
Thank you, I say, all the while thinking amusing thoughts of all that she thinks I might wish to do with the paper while she enters the price into my particular checkout system.
(Look, I might say, I've made a paper hat. A palm tree that expands when you pull on the top of the rolled-paper tube----oops, I need a scissors for that, to cut the fringes for the fronds. Sorry.)
The third paper, dear reader, apparently also does not scan.
How many papers are you buying? my self-checkout friend asks.
When I reply that I am buying four papers, she snorts, dear reader. I like to read differening versions of the same things. That's how I learn. That's how I form ideas and opinions, I say. I'm smiling when I say this because I think that it's a good thing.
You ought to watch Nancy Grace, she says, punching in the price of the third paper.
The fourth paper scanned of its own accord.