There I was, standing in the checkout line of a high-end home decor outlet store. As I waited for my transaction to complete at the cash register, I heard the woman behind me ask the checkout clerk, "Is there someone to help me get my purchases to the car?"
I looked back and saw a couple of serving plates on the counter, that was it; but maybe she had a larger item leaning on the checkstand out of my view. The clerk---a teenage boy putting in hard time to earn his beer money, I guess---shrugged his shoulders and answered "I can, ma'am." The woman in question was perhaps 50, definitely of the moneyed set and overdressed for her little shopping excursion. The clerk handed me my receipt and I started manouevering to my car, juggling my purchases and 2 little kids.
As I got the stuff and the kids back into the car and started buckling everyone in, I saw the woman walk out; the clerk was in fact 'assisting her to her car' with her purchases: a bag containing the 2 plates I had seen at the checkout. THAT WAS IT. He carried the bag to her car, then placed it on the back seat and closed the door.
My mind raced with explanations: Did she have some extreme disability which prevents her from carrying 2 plates? Well, she looked OK; besides, she carried her purse and didn't seem to have a problem with that giant bag. Maybe she wanted to arrange some "personal services" with the teenager, at a much-higher-than minimum wage price? Ugh. Banish the thought. Does she just have an expectation of service from everyone she comes in contact with?
Wow.