How I Saved A Life Last Friday Night

I went to see a movie last Friday. The film was fantastic, but that's not what I'm here to write about. I'm here today to recount the tale of my harrowing adventure at the concessions counter.
The cinema I was attending has a large concessions hub in the middle of their circular lobby. Upon arrival, I took up the "second-in-line" position behind a gentleman who was already being served at the counter. Due to the general level of ambient noise, I couldn't make out the details of the conversation between this gentleman and the young lady serving him behind the counter, but over the next, oh, let's say, epoch I noticed him raising various numbers of fingers and identifying them ("Two," "Just one," etc.). In response the server would hold up various sizes of drinking cups and give him a questioning look. Then she'd put some candy on the counter in front of him. They cycled through at least three variations on this exchange and while they always gave the impression of being on verge of completing the transaction, they never actually seemed to make any real progress.
It would be fascinating to study this communication phenomenon under controlled conditions in a university psychology lab, however, at the time, feeling my feet actually start to take root in the floor, I found my fascination with the process waning rather quickly.
Off to my right, about six line-ups away, ninety degrees around the snack hub, I saw a man named Scott Sherman standing fifth in line. I worked with Scott Sherman about 28 years ago. I haven't seen him in at least fifteen years. I suddenly found myself looking forward to chatting with Scott, catching up on old times, updating each on our lives. He was fifth in line over there and I was next to be served over here. In mere moments, after purchasing my snackery, I would walk over to him and engage him in conversation.
Ah, the future seemed so full of potential then.
Five minutes later, Scott Sherman had been served and wandered off to find a seat at one of a score of screens and the guy in front of me had taken out a pair of semaphore flags and appeared to be communicating his order with a ship off the coast.
The line immediately to my right was now down to only one person and he was entering his PIN code into the debit machine keypad. He had his food and was paying for it. He was done and there was no one in line behind him. Uprooting my feet with Herculean effort, I stepped behind him, thus ensuring that I would be served substantially sooner than I would if I stayed waiting for a Rosetta Stone of candy to plummet down on the fellow setting up a base camp at the head of my now former line-up. The opportunity to catch up with an old acquaintance was now lost to me, but I was determined to salvage some degree of success from this quest for refreshments.
A receipt was now chugging its way out of the debit machine and I was moments away from being served. Nearly quivering with anticipation, a minor victory so close to being in my grasp, I mentally reviewed my planned snack order and reassured myself that I would be content with those items to serve as my repast during the movie.
Alas, the receipt was blank. Apparently the debit machine printer was out of toner. But fear not, the young lady behind the counter had the solution to this problem. Revelling in the obviousness of it, she pressed the "reprint" button.
Many, many times.
Over and over again.
She then studiously compared the multiple bits of paper she now possessed, all of them seemingly identical in their blankness. Sensing that the problem was beyond her pay-grade, she wandered off to locate a manager, returning sometime later with another woman. This woman demonstrated why she is such valuable management material by immediately identifying the true problem and replacing the roll of paper in the printer.
Subsequently, staring at a new collection of blank bits of paper, it seemed to dawn on them that they were faced with a real stumper and maybe there wasn't a solution after all. It was their own personal Kobayashi Maru.
Eventually they noticed that I was standing there aging, and the gentleman stepped to the side and the young lady behind the counter smiled vacantly and said, "Hi, can I help you?"
"Hi," said I. "Could I have a bottle of Coke and this pack of Glosettes, please?" I said, taking a box of Glosettes raisins from he open display case.
Apparently I confused her by speaking and performing a separate task (picking up the Glosettes) at the same time and she hit a bunch of wrong buttons on the cash register, causing the amount of $17.89 to appear on the little display screen. I was a little shocked but before I could say anything, she hit some more buttons and corrected her error. The display now showed $8.00. I was still shocked but movie concessions have always involved gouging. I was shocked but, sadly, not really surprised.
I paid and she gave me my change then wandered off around the inside of the hub. As I stared down at the dozen bottles of Coke in the display cooler six inches to my left, I concluded that she was off in search of a cooler from which to fetch my bottle of Coke. My guess was way off the mark and she returned, not with a bottle of Coke, but with a ball-point pen which she handed to the man beside me so that he could - get this - write out his own receipt.
Then her eyes glazed over and her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side while, apparently, her internal system rebooted.
In due course she registered my presence and addressed me as a new customer. "Hi, would you like to try a combo?" she queried.
"No, thanks," I replied, "but I'd love to try the bottle of Coke I paid for."
I swear I actually heard the "ting" sound of the tiny bell inside her head ringing. After a momentary pause, she said, "Oh. Sure," reached into the display cooler and removed a bottle of water. Then she put the water back in the cooler, replacing it with a bottle of Coke which she vapidly handed to me.
And that's when I saved her life.
...By turning and walking away.

Note to Scott Sherman: If you are reading this, having found it by Googling your own name (everyone does it, there's nothing to be ashamed of), then drop me a line. We'll go for a beer and catch up on life after the Comic Den.