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Every time Jason and I went grocery shopping, it was like clockwork. We’d be laughing down the aisles, tossing in snacks we didn’t need and arguing over which pasta sauce to get — all was normal until we reached the checkout. Like magic, right as the cashier scanned the last item and it was time to pay, his phone would ring. Every. Single. Time.
“Oh babe, I gotta take this,” he’d say with a furrowed brow and a voice full of fake urgency. Then he’d vanish — slipping away toward the store entrance or pretending to pace near the produce section. And just like that, I’d be left holding the card, literally and figuratively.
At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Life’s chaotic. Maybe it really *was* bad timing. But after the fourth, fifth, sixth time — and especially after I paid a $347 grocery bill solo while he chatted with “work” outside — I realized this wasn’t coincidence. It was a strategy. A cowardly little escape act to dodge the bill.
That’s when I decided enough was enough. No more Checkout Houdini.
So, the night before our next shopping trip, I got a little creative. I quietly changed my contact name in Jason’s phone to “Bank Fraud Department.” Then, using a voice memo app and my best stern customer service voice, I recorded a fake automated message that said:
“Hello Jason. We’ve detected suspicious behavior on your account — specifically, avoiding payment at grocery stores by pretending to receive phone calls. This behavior has been flagged for review.”
Next day, we strolled through the store like usual. I let him pick out the fancy coffee he never drinks. I even smiled when he added three different kinds of cheese. And when we reached checkout — right on cue — his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and froze mid-step.
Instead of the usual smug “I gotta take this,” his face went pale. I watched as confusion flickered into panic, and then something even better — realization. He hesitated, then slowly answered the call, right there in front of the cashier.
My voice, crisp and clear, echoed out from his phone:
“Hello Jason. We’ve detected suspicious behavior—pretending to get a call every time it’s your turn to pay…”
The cashier nearly choked trying to hide a laugh. Two women in line behind us burst into snickers. Jason’s face turned a shade of red I hadn’t seen since our first argument over leaving socks on the floor. He didn’t say a word. Just pulled out his wallet and paid the $389 total with trembling hands.
On the way to the car, the silence was heavy. Finally, he said, “That was low, Lauren.”
I smiled sweetly and replied, “Lower than ghosting the bill for months?”
He didn’t argue.
Since then? Not a single mysterious phone call. His phone now stays face-up on the checkout counter, as if under oath. And here’s the best part — he *insists* on paying. Every time. Justice served… aisle by aisle.