Whine about wine

My wife messaged me, 'Can you get some wine for tonight?", so off I strolled to the supermarket. The streets were buzzing, the digital clock on the Chemist's said 24 degrees and ths sun was beating down gloriously.
Franci the wine expert was in the aisle, so he advised me on a couple of good choices, and there was even some reduced to clear vegetarian sausages, which I snagged for breakfast the next day.
When I came to pay, my bank card was missing from my wallet, but thankfully I remembered using it in my card reader earlier to check my balance. It was obviously still in there.
The cashier said she could keep hold of the basket, if I wanted to go fetch my card, and being a fool I agreed. On my way out I checked what cash I had on me; about 12 euros in change, not enough. It's only about a fifteen minute walk, the streets were buzzing and the the digital clock on the Chemist's said 25 degrees.
Upon arriving home, I grabbed the card and headed back to the supermarket. The streets were buzzing and the digital clock on the Chemist's said 26 degrees.
When I entered the supermarket I headed straight for the till in question, the one for self-scanners. It was a different girl, but the first one was still hovering around, and upon seeing me said "Ah, Monsieur, your basket is here, but I put the sausages back to keep them cool, you can go and get them." They were of course no longer there. I didn't want to get anything else as I no longer had my scanner, so I just went to the queue with the wine.
When I got to the till I explained the whole scenario but the girl had been filled in on this calamatous situation, and just smiled and scanned the wine. It came to eleven euros fifty. I didn't need the card.

"Are you English?" she purred. "Yes, and you?" I replied. "Morrocan." No kidding, she looked like a Disney version of the Queen of Sheba. Looking into those eyes for too long could turn a man's mind to mush. "The English are very polite" she said, "When I went to England everyone was really polite to me." She'd obviously never been in a St Helens pie shop on match day.
"Oh, that's nice." said I, pleased that the English are good at being polite, because we evidently suck at flirting.
Back outside, there was a fight erupting by the crossing. The digital clock on the Chemist's said 27 degrees.