Craving a dollop of pesto sauce for my pasta, I threw on my least-smelly t-shirt, hopped into my car, and made for the nearest Safeway. No, the big-chain super market doesn't carry the really good pesto, but for my pesto fix, I wasn't being picky. The jarred variety was fine by me.

The parkade under the Safeway was full, but I scooted past a vacant spot to try for one next to the door -- I needed my pesto fix in short order. Naturally, I was immediately blocked by a line of immobile SUVs waiting for a Hummer to back into a spot marked "SMALL CAR" several times over. So much for saving time.

Fifteen minutes later, I found my jar of pesto, and hunted for the shortest line at the checkouts. Fortune smiled upon me, as a checkout girl removed the "NEXT CASHIER PLEASE" sign just as I approached. Maybe it was my friendly smile. Or maybe my Drakkar Noir. That stuff is amazing with the chicks, and it's good as lighter fluid in a pinch.

I leapt at the checkout counter, shoving aside other customers to triumphantly place my jar of pesto in the spot of victory! Then fickle fate turned up her nose. The receipt printer jammed!

I tapped my foot for another ten minutes as a small crowd of white-and-red-uniformed employees fought with the printer. Other customers queued at other checkouts and slipped through effortlessly, while I was left frozen at this defective, receiptless counter. I shook my fist to the heavens that my struggle to hasten my shopping experience had been thwarted by a mere machine.

Eventually, they moved me to another till, checked me through, and I found myself, at last, heading home with my jar of pesto. If there's one thing I can learn from this experience, it's that I should avoid pesto at all cost.