The Great Grocery Store Scam: How I Taught My Husband a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
My husband, Jason, is an amazing guy—hardworking, hilarious, and the kind of man who remembers our anniversary without needing a reminder from his phone. But he has one habit that’s been driving me absolutely nuts.
Every single time we go grocery shopping together, the second we reach the checkout line, his phone rings. Every. Time.
“Oh, babe, I gotta take this!” And just like that—poof!—he vanishes, leaving me to pay the bill.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. Marriage is about teamwork, right? But after the tenth time in a row, I started to notice a pattern.
“Who was that?” I asked him one day as he magically reappeared just as I was loading the last bag into the car.
“Oh, just work stuff,” he said, waving his hand like it was no big deal. “Thanks for handling checkout. I’ll get it next time.”
Spoiler alert: There was no “next time.”
The Final Straw
Last Saturday was the breaking point.
We needed everything—groceries, cleaning supplies, and that ridiculously expensive coffee he loves. As we rolled our overflowing cart toward the checkout, I silently counted down in my head. Three… two… one…
RING. RING.
Jason’s hand shot into his pocket like he’d been electrocuted.
“Jason…” I started, but he cut me off.
“Oh, babe, I gotta take this—it’s work!”
And off he went, nodding seriously like he was negotiating a million-dollar deal. Meanwhile, I was left unloading a mountain of groceries while the cashier—a sweet older woman with knowing eyes—gave me the look.
You know the one. The “Girl, I see what’s happening here” look.
My face burned with embarrassment, but that quickly turned to rage when the total flashed on the screen: $347.92.
The cashier handed me the receipt with a sympathetic smile.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while Jason snored beside me, completely oblivious.
Enough was enough.
I had a plan.
Operation: Bank Fraud Department
While Jason slept, I grabbed his phone. I wasn’t snooping—we trust each other—but I was on a mission.
I found my contact name in his phone and changed it to something much more interesting:
“BANK FRAUD DEPARTMENT.”
Then, I set his phone back exactly where he’d left it and slipped back into bed, grinning.
The trap was set.
Showtime
The next morning, we went through our usual routine—lazy breakfast, then off to the store. The cart filled up fast, and soon, we were in the checkout line.
“Do we really need three kinds of chips?” I asked, trying to act normal while my heart pounded.
“Absolutely,” Jason said, dead serious. “These are for movie night, these are for lunch, and these are for my midnight snack attacks.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled. This was why I loved him—even if he was a sneaky grocery-dodger.
Then, right on cue, his hand drifted toward his pocket.
Time to strike.
I tapped my smartwatch—and instantly:
RING. RING.
Jason’s face lit up with relief. “Oh, babe, one sec, I gotta—”
Then he froze.
His eyes locked onto the caller ID: “BANK FRAUD DEPARTMENT.”
All the color drained from his face. His hands shook.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I asked, blinking innocently. “It looks important.”
He hesitated, glancing from the phone to me to the line of people behind us—all watching now.
“Lauren, this…” He held up the screen like it was a bomb about to explode.
“Just answer it,” I said, reaching over and hitting “Accept” for him.
Earlier that morning, I’d recorded a message and set up an app to call his phone when I tapped my watch.
What I hadn’t prepared for was how priceless his reaction would be when my voice blasted through his speaker:
“Hello, Jason. We’ve detected suspicious activity on your account. Specifically, you pretending to get a phone call every time it’s YOUR turn to pay at checkout.”
Jason’s jaw dropped. His face turned the same shade as the tomatoes in our cart.
The cashier fake-coughed to hide her laugh.
The couple behind us snickered.
I crossed my arms, savoring every second.
“Well, that was an important call,” I said sweetly.
The cashier didn’t even try to hide her laugh this time.
Jason couldn’t look at me. “Let’s just… finish checking out.”
And for the first time in months, Jason pulled out his wallet and paid. $389.76.
The cashier—the same one from before—gave me a subtle thumbs-up as she handed him the receipt.
“Need help with the bags, sir?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No, I got it,” Jason muttered, grabbing as many bags as he could carry.
The Silent Ride Home
The car ride was painfully quiet. Jason gripped the wheel like he was trying to strangle it. I stared out the window, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
Finally, as we pulled into the driveway, he spoke.
“That was low, Lauren.”
I turned to him, all fake sweetness. “Oh? You mean lower than ditching me with the bill every week?”
He opened his mouth—then closed it.
What could he say? He’d been caught.
“How long have you been planning this?” he asked as we unloaded groceries.
“Not as long as you’ve been planning your little phone call escapes,” I shot back.
“I don’t plan them!” he protested. “They just… happen.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Every. Single. Time?”
He sighed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it a little.”
“A little?” I laughed. “Jason, you turned grocery-dodging into an Olympic sport.”
He actually looked ashamed.
“I didn’t realize it bothered you that much,” he admitted.
“Oh, it bothered me,” I said. “Especially when the cashiers started giving me pity looks like I was married to a deadbeat.”
Jason winced. “Wait—the whole store knew?”
“Jason, we’ve been shopping there for years,” I said, setting down a bag of groceries. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”
He groaned. “Okay, okay. You got me. No more fake calls.” Then he smirked. “But changing your name to ‘Bank Fraud Department’? That was brilliant.”
“Thank you,” I said, bowing dramatically. “I learned from the master of cons.”
We both burst out laughing, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like we were a team again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, more seriously this time. “It was a jerk move. I don’t even know why I kept doing it.”
I shrugged. “We all have weird quirks. Just… maybe pick one that doesn’t leave your wife holding the bag. Literally.”
The Aftermath
Since that day? No more disappearing acts.
In fact, Jason insists on paying every time now. Sometimes, he even dramatically places his phone on the counter during checkout, like he’s proving a point.
And me?
Oh, I keep my smartwatch fully charged.
Just in case. 😏
