Come to your apartment later.

This entire situation was freaking you out. Why were girls like the cashier and Sarah apologizing to you for being lesbian, and claiming they had to make up for it with sex? Why was the guy behind you acting like this was all just a normal shopping headache? A memory from last night surfaces in your mind. And what the heck was with that text message?

You thought about just bolting from the convenience store, leaving all this weirdness behind, but you knew that if that text message was right, you couldn't really escape it. And the cashier looks like she would have a break down if you refused her "apology".

Now, you weren't really comfortable with having sex in public, and you really wanted to sit down and figure out what the fuck was going on before you did anything else. So, your hungover little brain comes up with the smartest plan it could.

"Uh, wait a minute." The cashier had started taking off her shirt while you were thinking. "Now uh..." you quickly glance at her name-tag, "...Lucy, I really do appreciate you...apologizing for being lesbian, but I'm not really comfortable doing anything here, and I have a few other things I really need to do first." She stops stripping and looks at you with an inquisitive expression.

"So how about you give me your phone number, and I call you when I'm ready. We could go to my apartment when you're done with work and you could apologize in private." (It feels so weird using "apologize" in this context, but you thought it seemed appropriate.)

Thankfully, Lucy seems to acquiesce to your request, and started putting her shirt back on. "Okay, I'm really sorry that I made you uncomfortable." She has a look of shame on her face, as if making you uncomfortable was a horrid sin, but it perks up in a few seconds.

"Actually, this works out better. Can I bring my girlfriend with me to your apartment? I'm sure she would want to apologize to you to."

You decide to roll with the madness. "Sure, the more the merrier."

She goes behind the counter, fishing around for some paper, and quickly scribbles out a number, and hands it to you. You grab your chips and her number, and make for the exit. Glancing back, the customer behind you gives you a stink eye, like you had just done something rude.

Too bewildered to care, you leave the store.