Please, cash register person. Please, for the love of all that is sacred in human interaction. Please, do not ask me what I'm making with my groceries. It's shame, that is what I'm making. The shame of the pre-made overpriced snack that become an entire meal on the couch. Or the shame of my best intentions fresh and healthy items rotting in the back of the fridge. SHAME IS WHAT I'M MAKING. ARE YOU HAPPY!?
You say .... Nice to meet you and leave ... if they ask for a phone number ... You tell them 867-5309 ... then you do your absolute best never to cross paths with them again.
This will probably piss some people off, but this is why churches in some form still need to exist. People who have no money or family or friends need someone to turn to for help and a lot of churches offer therapy and other services or at least they used to. Until we have a better resource to pick up people who fall through the cracks we still need churches despite their many faults.
This is also the face you have when you in hindsight realise you were the person saying all those personal things. I did that a lot in my weekly underground rave days and woke up the day after and cringed at myself all the way until the next weekend when I did it all over again... Good times.
I can't watch Young Frankenstein because in the middle of the movie (I was watching it on a laptop in the student center of the university I was at) a girl came up to me and told me how her cousin raped her repeatedly. The worst part is that she joined the clubs I was in and trauma dumped on everyone all the time.