Not a checkout girl
But it was in a supermarket checkout queue. Marks and Spencers in Winchester, October 1996.

Waiting to be served, person behind me pushes into me with their basket. I ignore it.

Happens again. I turn and glare at the person behind me. They smile and say sorry.

Happens again. I ignore it again.

Get served. As I get my shopping out of my basket, person behind me tries to make conversation about something or other. I grunt monosyllabically.

Pay. Leave.

An hour or so later, whilst eating my Marks boil-in-the-bag Sri Lankan curry, a few observations finally begin to form in my brain:

1) The person behind me was a young woman.
2) Quite a cute young woman in fact.
3) AND SHE WAS TRYING TO FLIRT WITH ME

It's just as well that I was so hopelessly slow on the uptake though, as just a couple of weeks before then I'd had an email from a young lady in America who liked my homepage (remember them?), and fourteen years later we're very happily married. But I still can't tell when I'm being flirted with: just the other week I actually said to Mrs Vaino, "The other day when you came over and sat astride me on the sofa, did that mean you wanted to have sex?"
(Vainomoinen went looking for the Sampo on, Thu 18 Feb 2010, 21:12, Reply)