Last night, Collin and I stopped off at Target for night time cold stuff for me and a couple of frozen pizzas. We got into the checkout line and waited patiently. Finally, our turn came and we stepped up to the little table by the cashier.
She greeted us and we exchanged pleasantries. She rang up the cold medicine and said I needed to show my ID. I said that wouldn’t be a problem and handed her my Alaska Driver’s License (yes, I still have mine because it doesn’t expire until 2013 and I’m not going to pay the outrageous fees to have it switched down here until I absolutely have to).
The cashier looked at my ID and then asked “Are you REALLY from Alaska?” Not feeling well, and wanting to get home to make dinner and get to bed, I assured her I was, instead of giving one of my usual answers (“No, but Wal-Mart was giving them away with every purchase last week,” “No, but I needed a new identity when I was placed in the witness protection program”).
Then she asked, “Isn’t that the place that’s REALLY cold?” I looked at Collin, who didn’t offer much help and responded with, “Yes, it’s frozen year round.” Which elicited the response of “wow.”
We contemplated eating the pizza frozen to remind us of home.
