Writing Our Region

I was checking out at the grocery store yesterday with a shopping buggy jam-packed with food. An elderly African American man came up in line behind me with cucumbers and a bottle of Ranch dressing.

"Would you like to go ahead of me?" I asked, continuing to throw cans and boxes at the conveyor belt.

"No thanks," he said.

"No, really—It's going to take me a while to unload this cart. Why don't you just slip ahead of me?" I'm still flinging things on the belt, not even looking at him.

"N...