There’s a small food shop adjacent to the main lobby of the Park City Marriott. I picked up a granola yogurt cup this morning (8:25 am) after snagging a ticket to a Sunday night Sundance showing of Lynne Ramsay‘s You Were Never Really Here. But before the sale the checkout girl wanted to make sure I knew the score.

Checkout Girl (pointing to yogurt cup): Uhm, this is seven dollars.
HE (mild, droll): Yeah, you’re pricey, you charge a lot, sure.
Checkout Girl: So is that okay?
HE: Yeah…what do you mean?
Checkout Girl: Is that okay?
HE (slightly confused): Well, no but (a smile) I’ll pay it!
Checkout Girl: I’m sorry. I don’t set the prices.
HE: Sure you do. You’re the mastermind. You’re the Ernst Stavro Blofeld of yogurt pricing.

The checkout girl (a throughly decent person) didn’t get it at all. I shouldn’t have used such an obscure reference. Too early in the morning. Why couldn’t I have let well enough alone and just muttered “no worries”? I’ll tell you why. Because she not only warned me about the high price, and because she asked me for a reaction. I tried to keep things light, but I messed it up with an obscure reference to a couple of late ’60s Bond films.