Eva Bradley: Bags of checkout intrigue

I'm not going to write about the Olympics. Relax. It's not that there isn't plenty of fodder for a slightly cynical columnist with 600 words at her disposal, especially when you can't sleep at night and find yourself watching two heterosexual women rolling around on the floor and grabbing each other in places where the sun don't shine, all in the name of sport.

The Olympians are getting enough air time. This week my thoughts are with another athlete - a marathon runner, in fact.

You might recall my rant against the automated Pak'nSave checkout a few months back. Who would have thought the checkout could provide such a wealth of material, for again I find myself about to launch into a tale with its genesis in the same place.

As I lined up with a full load of groceries this week, the nice lady behind the checkout offered the usual "how's yer' day been", to which she doubtless expected the usual "yeah, fine" before it was back to packing the potatoes.

Instead, I decided to be honest and had a wee moan about how my day WOULD be great, if only I didn't have to go to the gym shortly.

"Just count yourself lucky you don't have to train for a marathon, that REALLY puts a damper on your day," the woman replied.

Such was my surprise that a diminutive 40-something checkout chick was preparing to run 42km non-stop that my reply (YOU'RE running a marathon?!?!) came out sounding rather more rude than I'd intended.

Apparently, her boyfriend was going to join her. And since it was to be the first time she met him, she wanted to be in tip-top shape.

Forget the marathon. A boyfriend she hadn't met? NOW I was interested.

As the tomatoes were weighed, the frozens put into the trolley and the tinned goods beside them, I learned (thanks to a frank line of questioning that only a journalist could possibly consider appropriate) that she "met" him online, he lived overseas, he was arriving in October and they were very much in love.

Which might sound preposterous, but you can't knock these things until you've tried them. As I said to her, sometimes you can learn an awful lot more about a person when written words are your only tools.

But oh no ... they don't write ... they Skype.

So he sees her in person.

Which has the distinct disadvantage of requiring her to spend a hideous amount of time before every call putting on makeup, right?

Wrong.

She's 15 years older than him and he knows what he's getting and loves her for who she is, not how she looks.

I was starting to wish I had put more tins in the trolley. This story just kept getting better.

Aware of the pressure such a gap in age and social convention would put on her, I was in awe of her indifference to it.

As she handed over my receipt, I had a renewed respect for checkout chicks. I began to wonder just how curious and complicated the lives of all the people we deal with dismissively on a daily basis might be.

While some swear the automated checkout is the way of the future, it can't possibly compete with the entertainment being provided free in aisle five. The woman I'd just met had a life more interesting than a soap opera. I knew I'd be back for more.