At the Chocolate Shop

So I’m in one of Jackson’s only chocolate shops, buying a holiday treat.

One woman — older, petite, wearing a fur coat — is in front of me. She has a box of round mints dipped in dark chocolate in one hand, and is tapping the glass counter with the other. “What other chocolate mint things do you have?”

The young woman behind the counter scans the truffles. “We have mint truffles.”

“No truffles!” the woman says. “Mints. Chocolate covered mints.”

The younger woman gives our fur-coated friend a look, but continues to try to be helpful. “We have these candies here.”

The older woman looks at these, frowning. “How are they different?”

“They’re not,” the employee explains. “The mints in your box are round, and these are the same thing, just rectangular.”

“That sounds different to me,” the woman says. “Which is best?”

The employee glances at me and shrugs. “They’re the same.”

The older woman all but stamps her foot. “But which would be better?”

“I guess it just depends on whether you want round or square,” the employee says.

“This box,” the older woman says, “is labeled ‘Hostess Mints.’ Are these square ones also hostess mints?”

“They’re both covered with dark chocolate,” the young woman says, beginning to lose patience. “They have the same mint wafers inside. It’s just that one is round, and the other is square.”

“But are they both hostess mints? What I’m asking is, could both be served by a hostess?”

The girl behind the counter can’t believe her ears. “Well … yes.”

They negotiate. The older woman replaces the box of round mints and buys a third of a pound of square ones. As the younger woman fills the order, the owner of the shop comes out, spots me, and says, “I can ring you up.”

As I’m handing her my box of round mints and a stocking-stuffer, the older woman turns to us and says, “I was here first, actually.”

The owner, caught off guard, glances from me to the older woman. “I’m sorry … I thought Katrina was still filling your order.”

“She is,” the older woman says. “But I was here before he was.”

Trying to smile, the owner manages a grimace. “I’ll check you out as soon as Katrina wraps up your order.”

“She’s slow,” the woman says. “I’ll be here all night at this rate.”

Someone I know deserves a lump of coal in her stocking.