Checkbook chill By Robin Garrison Leach I was next in line at the grocery checkout. The woman in front of me was ready to pay; she fumbled her hand inside her purse and withdrew a worn, black, checkbook cover. She sat it atop the tiny ledge next to the card reader and cracked it open like a treasure chest. I watched her as she looked up at the total on the screen and began writing. I leaned against my cart and sighed. How long would THIS take? Her hand was a bit unsteady as she carefully applied the date to the top corner. The body of the check would probably take forever. I took a deep breath and forced myself to be patient.