When it came time for my orange mesh bag of clementines to be carefully waved over the scanner, the cashier paused, turning the bag over in her hand, the oranges tumbling awkwardly over each other as she did.
"This is a bad bag," she said. "You should go get another one."
In retrospect, and even at the time, it seems I should have just said "okay" and did as she said.
For some reason, indignation for the "cuties" (their brand name) rose within me and so instead of turning toward the produce section, I answered her with a question.
"Where?" I asked, kindly, but firmly.
She hesitated, surprised (a bit like I was), and once again began to turn the bag over in her hand, looking for some support for her bold claim. (I, for one, would not like to be called a "bad bag" for no good reason.)
After a few awkward seconds, she found an orange whose peel was orange and white, instead of just orange. She held it up for me to see.
I was not afraid of the white on the peel. And now I felt kind of sad for this group of oranges - they thought they were cuties, only to find out that they had somehow ended up in a bad bag.
"That's fine. I'll take them anyway." I said.
I've eaten them all now, and they were tasty. Not a bad fruit in the bag.
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