Whole Duds

Dear Whole Foods Cashier:
Thank you for ringing up my food and for not rushing the process. You know, as I do, that separating the food from its natural habitat must be done in such a way as to cause the least amount of trauma, and that the calmer you are during the transition from shelf to checkout counter to scanner to plastic bag to delivery person to my door, the less likely the possibility that the food will wail and make a scene. So I appreciate your near-caress of each item as you passed it along each step of the journey for which you were responsible. I can only imagine how good you would be with separating puppies from their mamas.
However, did you have to shatter my illusion of you as an intelligent being by telling me, when my order rang up to $227.andsomechange, that the delivery charge, already reduced by a few dollars to $4.95 because I spent over $200, would be completely waived if my order totalled $300, so did I want to buy some more stuff? At first I thought your “D’ya wanna get somethin’ else?” was a bit of facetious fun for the two of us to share. But when I said, with a good-natured twinkle in my eye (the left eye) (the right one is reserved for haughty disdain), “Why would I spend $73 extra to save five [notice how my arithmintensive brain automatically rounded up]?”, you looked at me like I just said, in Ubby Dubby, “You got peanut butter in my CHO-CO-LAAAAAHT! Yeeow! And by the way, how much wood would a woodchuck CHUCK, motherchucker, if a woodchuck could chu– oh HAHAhaaahAhahahaHAhahaAaa!”
Even the grape leaves (not exactly known for their great intellect) knew that made no sense.
Disappointed, after all,