#freak2fr

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I was at the grocery store checkout with a cart full of weekly groceries when the woman behind me tapped my shoulder. She had maybe five items total—milk, bread, and a few other basics. "Excuse me," she said with a sweet smile, "I'm in a huge rush. Mind if I go ahead of you?"

I glanced at my overflowing cart, then at her handful of items. Normally, I'd say yes, but I'd already been shopping for an hour and had frozen items that needed to get home. "Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry too," I replied politely.

Her smile vanished instantly.

"Seriously? I have like five things. You have a whole cart." She gestured dramatically at my groceries like I'd committed some crime by buying food for the week.

I stayed calm. "I understand, but I was here first."

That's when she decided to get creative with her guilt tactics.

"I'm a single mom," she announced loudly enough for half the store to hear. "I just got off a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. I'm a nurse."

I noticed she was wearing designer jeans and carrying a Louis Vuitton purse, but I kept that observation to myself. "I'm sorry you've had a long day, but—"

"My babysitter charges by the hour," she interrupted, her voice getting higher. "Every minute I'm stuck here costs me money I don't have."

The cashier looked uncomfortable. Other customers started turning around. I felt the familiar pressure of public judgment, but I held my ground.

"I have frozen items that need to get home too," I said simply.

She scoffed. "Frozen items? Really? That's your excuse?"

Then she pulled out the big guns.

"My daughter is at home alone right now. She's only eight years old. She's probably scared, wondering where Mommy is." Her eyes actually started welling up with tears.

I looked at her more carefully. Something felt off about her story, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Look," I said, "there are three other checkout lines open. You'd probably be done already if you'd just picked one of those."

"Those lines are longer!" she snapped, dropping the sweet act entirely.

I glanced over. Two of the other lines had nobody in them.

"That line right there is completely empty," I pointed out.

She followed my gaze, then quickly looked away. "That cashier is slow. Everyone knows that."

Now I was getting annoyed. "So you'd rather hold up this line arguing with me than use an empty checkout?"

"I was here second!" she declared, as if that meant something.

The cashier finally spoke up. "Ma'am, I can take you at register four if you'd like."

"No!" she said firmly. "I want this line. I was here first after them."

That's when her story started falling apart.

Her phone rang. She answered it immediately. "Hey babe, yeah I'm still at the store... No, just picking up a few things... What? Oh, tell Madison I'll be home soon."

I raised an eyebrow. Madison? I thought her eight-year-old daughter was home alone and scared?

She noticed my expression and quickly ended the call.

"That was my... neighbor," she stammered. "Checking on my daughter."

"Your neighbor who calls your daughter by name and says 'tell Madison'?" I asked.

Her face went red. "Mind your own business!"

The cashier had finished scanning my items. As I paid, the woman made one last desperate attempt.

"Fine! I lied about some details, but I really am in a hurry. Can't you just be a decent human being?"

I turned to face her. "A decent human being doesn't lie about having a scared child at home to cut in line at the grocery store."

She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

As I grabbed my bags, I heard her mutter, "Whatever. Some people have no compassion."

I paused at the exit and looked back. She was still standing in the same line, arguing with the cashier about a coupon that had expired six months ago.

All I did was refuse to reward someone for lying to manipulate me.