Comeback Wit Disorder

I have a problem. All my life, I have suffered from not-quick-enough-comeback wit. See? I can't even coin a decent phrase for it off the top of my head.

You know how when someone says something unexpected--especially if it's offensive--you just cannot think of the right comeback? Until you're driving away, or at 2:00 in the morning. Then, when it's too late, I am a genius.

The other day, I went into a gas station to put a few dollars of gas into the tank so I could make it to a doctor's appointment without getting stranded. I knew my husband would fill up the tank at our favorite cheap place later in the day. I would have gotten a few bucks' worth, but the cashier attacked me as she saw me approach. "Is that a personal check?" You would think I had had it personalized with pictures of cooties. "We don't take personal checks," she smirked.

"Then give me two dollars' worth of gas," I said, laying a $20 on the counter.

"You have a nice DAY!" she screamed at me. (Apparently, she has the same disorder.)

I remained silent.

"You have a nice DAY," she said again, slamming the cash register door and throwing my change onto the counter. And again as I turned away, "You have a nice day!"

Long story short, we've got to get a better gas-trip schedule. I found myself in the same position a week later--needing to get a bit of gas in order to make it home from work. I stopped at the corner market next to my office. The cashier said, "You just gave me a check for ten dollars," as though that was the most foolish thing anyone had ever done.

My mind whirled. Yes, he was standing behind the counter at a store that sells gasoline. Yes, he should be representing that store and thereby authorized to take my check and provide gas in return.

"I can't read your mind," he continued.

"Oh," I said. "Sorry. It's for gas."

Enough gas stories. Recently, at the gym, a woman I'd just met told me as I dried my hair that she had gotten "smart" and figured out to wash her hair the night before. Then, in the morning, she could just put on a shower cap and not have to bother washing her hair at the gym before work.

"I get too sweaty," I said.

"I guess I just don't sweat much," she said, glibly. Two slams ought to have been enough to get my brain into gear, but, as usual, the moment passed before I thought of the right thing to say.

So, to the first cashier--"I'm certainly not going to let you ruin it."

To the second cashier--"The check did say, 'Gas' on the 'For' line."

To the girl at the gym, "You would if you burned 900 calories."

There. I feel much better.

Whew. I need better writers.