Just say it

“Can I help you?” said the lady behind the counter at the Williamsport (PA) Wegmans.
I was on my way home from celebrating Thanksgiving in south Jersey with relatives.
Trips to Altoona (PA) to chase trains are also via Williamsport, and I always stop at Mighty Weggers driving home.
“Where I come from,” I said; “Wegmans has coleslaw out in casseroles in the display-case. That’s what I was looking for.”
“We have that,” she said. “I can get it.
How much do ya want?” She came around and showed me a small plastic container of macaroni-salad.
“That looks right,” I said; “but it’s macaroni-salad.”
“I’ll make you one of coleslaw.”
Every Wegmans is different. In Williamsport milk is in back next to eggs. In Canandaigua it’s out front as well as in back.
She opened a tub of pre-made coleslaw, then started filling my plastic container.
“If that container is a half-pound, don’t fill it completely,” I said.
“Quarter-pound?” she asked.
“Third of a pound,” I said.
“Canandaigua, NY,” I said. “C-A-N-A-N-D-A-I-G-U-A; that’s where I’m going. And if yer hip ya know that’s were yer recently retired boss, Danny Wegman, lives.

Danny’s Ferrari. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

He lives on Canandaigua Lake, and Wegmans in Canandaigua isn’t a ‘jewel-in-the-crown,’ but it’s his store.
It better look good; he’s always hanging out there.
If a Ferrari is in the parking-lot, it’s Danny.”
“Right behind you,” a gentleman said as we walked toward an Interstate-80 rest-facility.
“I’m slow,” I said. “I usually get passed by Millennials walking at the Speed-of-Light.”
We stopped. “This knee is fake,” I said to this complete stranger. “Total knee-replacement, December 7th, 2015, ‘a date that will live infamy.’” (Pearl Harbor was December 7th, 1941.)
“My balance is also dreadful,” I added. “Perhaps because I hobbled so much before this knee-replacement.”
“So’s mine” (his balance). I’ll never see this guy again in my entire life.
The rest-facility was closed. “I suppose I can hold it another 30 miles.”
Back to our cars, which was uphill.
“I see yer climbing okay,” stranger observed.
I was faster than him, but “I used to run,” I said.
Driving farther north I gassed up at the Blossburg Kwik-Fill.
The pump was lobbing insanity, and I noticed a lady on the other side having similar problems.
“Ya need a Doctorate to operate this thing,” I said.
She laughed.
“Doncha just love it when ya call someplace, and the machine asks you to key in your account-number on the keypad? Do that, and the first thing the service-rep asks for is yer account-number.
Like HELLO.
If I say anything, the service-rep goes on defense: ‘we got a live-one here!’”
The lady loved it. “Nice talkin’ to ya,” I said as we left. I’ll never see her again in a million years.
(She probably went home and mentioned me to her husband.)
“Just say it,” I’ve learned. My wife died five years ago, so 50 years late I’m discovering “just say it.”
If my target takes offense, I don’t need a fence; i.e. it ain’t my fault.
Most people love it.

• RE: “Chase trains....” —I’m a railfan. Altoona is where the Pennsylvania Railroad, heading west, crossed Allegheny Mountain. The railroad is now Norfolk Southern, but remains. That railroad is a main conduit of trade with the nation’s interior. Trains are frequent — enough for my brother-and-I to chase and photograph trains.
• “Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester (NY) where I often buy groceries. They have a store in nearby Canandaigua, and are expanding into other east-coast locations — like Williamsport, Wilkes-Barre PA, Cherry Hill NJ, near Dulles Airport, etc.