{clever title under construction} PROLOGUE

NPR did a short story this morning on a French woman who worked as a cashier in a grocery store to pay her way through college. Then afterward, when no jobs were available, stayed on. And on. And on. At age 29 she published her first book, titled something in French, about her observations of people's behavior, good and bad, as they came through her grocery line in a truthful, cynical, yet lighthearted way. It's since been translated into 16 languages and she's published a second book.

Now, I felt ripped off. I've been meaning to do the same thing. I've even blurbed a bit about those things here. But admittedly, she was a journalism student long before I began working in a grocery store, and she's long passed me as she thought of this years ago. Nonetheless.

I've been aching about it all day. My missed opportunity, thinking that could have been me! We're the same age! Well, actually she's older than me, but was my age when she published her first book, and she was probably a college student when I was ten, cuz I really don't know how old she is now...

I digress.

Anyway, I've decided to do it anyway. Sorry, that was 'anyway' twice.

Ahem. Anyhoo, I came to the realization that although she beat me to the bookbinder, she certainly is not the only person to work in a grocery store or as a cashier of any means, and she certainly isn't the only one to be bothered by other people's behavior. And since she is French, speaks and writes in French and observes other people in France, and French people are, well, French*, I figure I ought to take a bite out of American upper-middle class suburbia and put a real Real Housewives of Eastlake this-is-how-they-treat-the-grocery-clerk message out into the world.

Then perhaps I will randomly meet Miss Frenchie on a passenger train somewhere in a French countryside, seeing as how that seems to be what they have going for them most, aside from baguettes in bicycle baskets next to the ching-ching bells, and we can compare notes.

This so begins what I've been dictating in my head for many weeks. And while I'm at it, let me acknowledge my recent affinity for italics.

*Disclaimer: I'm only poking fun at French for the sake of poking fun at someone. I love Amelie, but I've never actually met a French person. If I had there'd be no reason for a disclaimer. hee hee.