The
other Monday I went to the supermarket after a long day of working from home –
I often go around 7 or 8pm; the place is close by, and is open till 10pm – and
I was picking through the on-sale
$.69/lb vine-ripened tomatoes when an older (white) woman w/short hair
and lots of gold jewelry and a slightly sparkly black top and matte black pants
moved in beside me, and I immediately said, “Sorry,” and gave her room.
“No need
to say ‘Sorry,’ hon,” she was like. “You
were here, and I’m here now.”
Then,
after a short pause, she was like, “But I’m from New York, maybe I’m just
different like that.”
Then,
she was like, “And these are good prices.
You can only get better in New York’s Chinatown, and barely even then.”
“I
know,” I was like. “That zucchini is forty-nine cents a pound for the second
week in a row. I got some last week, and
it’s really good quality, too.”
Then, I
added that the prices were so good, my grocery bill was like twenty to thirty
bucks a week, unless it was a week when I was buying bricks of coffee or a big
bag of rice or a new tin of olive oil because I had finally run out of it or something like that.
“What,
are you a vegetarian?”, she was like.
“No, I
just cook cheap at home, I’d rather get a hamburger out at a bar or something,”
I was like.
“Oh,”
she said.
Next
thing I know, I run into her over by the carrots, and she asked me what I was
buying so many carrots for.
“I don’t
like breakfast foods,” I said, “So in the morning I have home-made hummus on
toast, and I cut up raw carrots and eat that along with it, that’s what I tend
to eat on weekdays.”
“What do
you put in there? Garbanzo beans you
soak yourself?” –
“Yeah.”
-
“Tahini?” –
“Yeah.”
- “Some
garlic and olive oil?” –
“Yeah.”
“That’s
nice,” she was like.
Like a
minute later, we ran into each other over by the grapefruit.
“Ten for
a dollar,” she was like. “Can you
believe that? But those lemons are
expensive.”
I then
asked her if she was still in New York, or like how long ago she had moved to the city.
“I still
live there,” she was like. “But my son
lives here in [a neighborhood about 12 blocks west]. I come down here to go to the dollar store
across the street, Mondays is half off, and I always shop here, the prices are
so good.”
Then,
she was like, “And did you know that if you buy more than fifty bucks they’ll
drive you home?”
“Really?”,
I was like. “Is that like a thing?”.
“I don’t
know,” she was like, “Maybe they just do it for me. The driver’s a real nice guy, his son is
Mexican too and is on full scholarship to Lawrence. That’s where the Kennedies go.”
“Good
for that kid,” I was like. “His dad must
be very proud.”
At that
point I moved away to get green peppers and our shopping trips didn’t synch up again,
but later I was picking out cucumbers and I noticed her over by the wall by
this door that I had never noticed before and must be the store office, and
there was this older (Mexican) guy talking with her and some younger (Mexican)
guy standing with them too.
“You’re
the best,” the older (Mexican) guy was telling the older (white) woman.
“No,
*he’s* the best!”, she said, pointing to the younger (Mexican) guy.
“No,
*you’re* the best,” the older (Mexican) guy told the older (white) woman again.
“No,
*he’s* the best!”, she said, pointing to the younger (Mexican) guy and
laughing.
After I
checked out, I was double-checking my bill and then went to return my cart in
the rack outside the doors, and just as I was walking past the main entrance
again, the older (white) woman emerged with the younger (Mexican) guy.
“This is
my friend,” she was like. “He’s the man
whose son goes to Lawrence.”
“Congratulations,”
I was like. “That’s quite an
achievement.”
“You
live near here?”, he was like.
“Yeah,
just a few blocks that way.”
He then
offered me a ride too, but I patted my belly and laughed and said I could use
the exercise, and we all parted ways.
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