tomoatmeal:

The line was pretty long so rather than hold the package of toilet paper, the woman in front of me decided to set it down.

When the sales associate saw the toilet paper sitting on the ground next to our line, he made a move to pick it up, but she stopped him.

“Actually, that’s mine,” she said.  

The associate apologized and walked back onto the sales floor.

“Actually, it’s not yours yet,” I said, cheerfully.  ”You still have to pay for it!”

When it came to pointing out minor technicalities, I was about as skilled a master as you were bound to find.  It was a blessing and a curse, however, since most people were hesitant to ever engage me in conversation.  The responses I did manage to receive were a result of either curiosity, pity, or general courtesy and even then, the interaction seldom escalated past a mere visual acknowledgement.  

The woman turned around to find me smiling so wide that it probably looked less like a smile than it did an attempt to see how far I could stretch my mouth without using hands.  It was the kind of game that might sneak into the schedule of a man during his final days of solitary confinement.  No rules.  No way of scoring it outside of false perceptions of progress.  The effort was physically taxing and soon my head began to shake lightly.  

I visualized my smile stretching so wide that the corners of my mouth would continue on around my face and meet at the back of my head.  It felt real and soon I could imagine the top part of my head falling off and hitting the ground.  My body slumped to the floor, causing the woman to scream hysterically and my arms swiped blindly at her legs as she hopped around to avoid my grip.

I saw her again when I was leaving.  She was sitting in her car and staring straight ahead.  

“Hey!  You have to turn the car ON before you drive it,” I screamed.