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Here is one story retold, albeit with a pithier ending:
From Express Shopper:
Life in the Fast lane
What happened: So, I'm a student staying at my college over the summer, and am starting to buy groceries for myself. It's memorial day, and I'm not in the mood to wait behind a ton of people buying plates and beer, so I limit my purchases to 13 items and go through the express lane (Maximum 15 items.) Because these were my weekly groceries, they looked like a lot more than they really were. Two not-so-adorable old biddies were impatiently waiting behind me with their potato salad, hemming and hawing, obviously thinking I was some stupid kid who didn't know how to count.
The check-out lady obviously picked up on their impatience, and, after ringing me up, asked, "Do you need help carrying ALL these items?" In a patronizing, demeaning manner, obviously intending, after I left, to participate in a friendly insult about me with the witches behind me.
What I said: So I said, trying to be polite and courteous, "Oh, no, thank you," and I left quickly.
What I SHOULD have said: "No, I think I'm okay with my 13 items. Now, if I threw some potato salad on top of that, I might break my hip like some old bat."
The French call it l'esprit d'escalier, "the wit of the staircase," those biting ripostes that are thought of just seconds too late, on the way out of the room-or even, to tell the truth, days later. It's happened to you: you've suddenly thought of just what would put your foe in his or her place, but past the time when the arrow could sting its victim. You've stewed in your own juice ever since, and the chance for singeing repartee is gone forever.
Or is it?
Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde may have had the rapier wit to tweak their tormentors on the spot, but for the rest of us, we offer the Internet's only L'esprit d'escalier web site!