It’s no secret that the humans like to eat. Or, in the female’s case, eat and eat and eat. It’s no surprise, therefore, that their grocery bills are, while somewhat north of Volstagg’s, not insignificant. When last week’s purchase rolled into triple digits, no one thought much about it. It was, after all, a stock-up shop, replacing staples and household products depleted before and just after our trip abroad.
This morning, the human male is recording the purchase in the checkbook. Hold! What is this?
Eleven-plus pounds of pitted dates? Who buys that many dates? What on earth did they need with that many dates? More to the point, why did Sigyn and I not get any of them?
The humans do not remember buying any pitted dates. In fact, the male doubts that their market has such a quantity at any time, except perhaps for Yule.
Oh, ehehehehehe! I know what has happened! The checker (waving at you, Darrel!) has mistaken the PLU or produce look-up code of dates (4263) with that of Russet potatoes (4072). Because, you know, the two numbers are so close.
Now the humans will have to call the store and probably go stand in line at Customer Service (sic) to obtain a refund of the price difference between boring, starchy stew ingredients and delicious, sticky morsels of drupey delight. It is is good to know that my checker-training program is bearing fruit–of a distinctly Arecaceous kind!