Chris Johnson stood in the checkout line, filling out a form for the supermarket’s loyalty program. The store was convenient to his house, so he figured that a few dollars of savings here and there would pile up in the long run.
When he handed back the form, the checkout clerk’s eyes grew wide when she read the name. “Chris Johnson? Like the football player?”
Chris shook his head. He had gotten that reaction before; it was fair, considering he was big and black, like one would expect a football player to look. “Not quite. But I do play for the Celtics here in town.”
The clerk laughed. “Really? I’m actually an astronaut, but I work here when they don’t have me training for missions.” She laughed some more at her own joke.
“Actually, if you look at the Celtics’ website, you’ll see my picture-” Chris began, before he was interrupted.
“Looks like you’re approved!” the clerk said happily, handing him a flimsy card with a barcode on it. “Have a nice day, Chris Johnson!”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Chris mumbled, taking the card. Walking out of the store, he again cursed his parents, who didn’t have the forethought to name him something like Mentiveon or Dakwarius. Thanks to their lack of creativity, he wasn’t even recognized in the city in which he played.
Then he smiled, because he remembered that he was a millionaire and was living life on easy mode.