The line to pay at Greenies Veggie & Smoothie Bar was more than a dozen deep. The single employee taking care of the customers was frazzled and agitated, and clearly in over her head. The fact that she was slower than a snail probably had something to do with the long line.
Wilson came up alongside me. He was holding a small, clear cup with a mass of some sort of greenish, purplish goop. There was a small wooden spoon sticking straight up in the goop.
“I got the Greenie Smoothie of the Day special,” he said, proudly. “Want to try some?”
I eyed the cup and shook my head. “I try to stay away from substances not easily identifiable,” I said.
“It’s a combination of seagrass, kale, seaweed, beets, spinach and just a pinch of carrots,” he said. “It’s supposed to be an incredible boost to your immune system.”
I admired Willson’s openness in most cases, but not this one.
He scooped a little of the “smoothie” onto the spoon and sampled it. His mouth began to move, and his jaws started to work, but it was like watching a dog trying to chew gum and eat taffy at the same time. He seemed to be making no progress, and after a few moments just tossed his head back and swallowed hard. “Whew,” he said. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”
“Taste or texture?” I asked.
“Both, although I’m not sure what it tasted like, I was more concerned with freeing my jaws so I could speak again,” Wilson said.
I looked ahead of us and saw another customer pay and leave. “Oh good,” I said. “Only four more people. We may get out of here before the next election after all.”
I glanced at my salad and swore the greens were wilting before my eyes. A minute later we were third in line, close enough for me to yell to the gal behind the counter.
“Any chance there is another cashier around to help out?” I asked, thinking I’d be recognized as The Hero Who Saved the Lunch Break for the people behind us.
The woman at the counter glared at me as if I had ordered a burger.
“I’m sorry,” she said, in a tone that let me know she was anything but, “there are NO cashiers here.”
She was pointing to a little sign on the wall behind her. I squinted to read it.
Greenies Veggie & Smoothie Bar is a cashless establishment. We do not accept cash of any kind.
She took the opportunity to underscore the message of the sign on the off chance I didn’t understand.
“No cash, no cashiers,” she said. “We are payment acceptors, is that clear?”
I nodded and mumbled to Wilson. “Crap.”
“What?”
“I left my wallet back at the office. You know what that means?”
“Memory issues? Lack of organization?”
“No, but thanks for trying. It means I have nothing but cash to pay with,” I said.
“Hmmm,” he said, patting his pockets. “I don’t think I even have that. I left everything back in the office too.”
“Good luck with those memory and organization issues,” I said.
“What are we going to do?” Wilson asked.
We were next in line. It was crunch time. The gal yelled “next customer” louder than necessary like she was making a point.
I pushed my salad across the counter toward her and she rang it up.
“Twenty-three fifty-seven,” she said.
“Uh, I only have cash,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she said pointing to the sign again. “But we do not accept cash. It says so right there for everyone to see.”
She stood there staring, content to let let me feel the shame. Then she yelled to someone at the other end of the counter. “Walter, assistance please.”
A thirty-something guy came scurrying over and looked to her, then me. Behind his glasses, his eyes burned a hole in me. “Let me guess, a cash guy?” he asked her.
She nodded and said, “Uh huh.”
“Sir, we’re sorry but Greenies will not be able to sell you a salad today,” he said, moving the salad back behind the counter.
“How about just this once?” I asked. “I didn’t know, it’s my first visit.
I took out my money and waved it and said, “Look, its real. Good old fashioned U.S greenbacks.”
The gal at the register shrieked. The people behind me shrieked. It was like I was brandishing a weapon. There were yells and screams coming from all corners of Greenies.
“He has cash. Paper money.”
“Everyone down.”
“Ahhh, germs. Help, someone.”
Walter reached under the counter and pulled out a fire extinguisher, and pointed it at me. “Put it back in your pocket now. And get out.”
In the commotion I heard Wilson somewhere behind me. “See ya,” he said.
I must have hesitated too long for Walter because he squeezed the trigger handle of the extinguisher. A big puff of powder and dust came out and coated me. I coughed, and choked and heard Walter lacing into me.
“Now please leave and do not return, unless you have plastic or some form of electronic payment.”
I wiped the powder from my eyes in the hope of seeing again. I did, and the first thing I saw was the gal at the register. She was tapping, then slapping frantically at the register.
“It’s not working,” she said. “It must be all that powder. She turned to the laptop on the counter behind her and found it dead.
“Oh no, the internet is down,” she said.
Walter looked under the counter, and said. “It’s the powder, it got all over the equipment.”
The crowd was loud now, all complaining about the delay and the mess everywhere. I turned and hightailed it toward the door. I heard Walter behind me.
“Okay, okay, everyone it’s okay. Does anyone have cash they can pay with?”