On my way home from work one day last week, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things. Aside from “veggies” and eggs, I didn’t have a list, so I did more aimless wandering than usual. Do I need anything from the Indian food section? Hmmm. Green chile poppadoms would be nice. How about the juice aisle? Do I need any V-8? No? Oh, that’s right, I still have some left from the food co-op. Oh, yes, here we are. Eggs…
You can see how it went.
So, I cruised through the dairy aisle, past the bulk-frozen-foods section, and into the normal-sized frozen foods section, where I was immediately transfixed by the vast array of potatoey goodness. Mind you, I don’t normally succumb to it’s siren call, but on this day, I was sorely tempted.
And then it happened. A little old lady assaulted me in the frozen foods section of Marsh. First, she sneaked up behind me, until she was this >< close. She grabbed me by the arm and proceeded to explain to me that all those nummy potato products are unhealthy. Well, duh! Then she told me that she stays skinny by indulging only in ice cream. Next, she looked at all the stuff in my cart (various fresh veggies, eggs, poppadoms, plain yogurt, and a couple of jars of marinara sauce). I didn't ask her for a critique of my diet, but that didn't stop her. I found out that Knorr makes a package mix that is way better than any marinara sauce in a bottle. That may be. I'm doubtful, but I'm not about to argue with random bossy people. I also found out that people in Italy don't eat much beef. M'kay. I suspect the Italian terrain isn't well suited to cattle ranching, but I'm not sure why I ought to care one way or the other. Also, Edy's ice cream has gum fillers but Breyers is pretty good. (I think Breyers has an offensive after taste and I'm pretty enamored of Edy's coffee with chocolate cappuccino chip, but I'm not the expert whose daddy owned a drug store with a soda fountain, so what do I know?)
Really, I now know more about this woman's life than I know about most of my friends' lives. She's a photographer who works for the county court system. She makes US$40K/year. She's lived in Bloomington her whole life, but travels to Italy frequently. The last time she was there, she nagged the bed and breakfast owner into selling her the dishes right off the dining table. She knows the secret to the perfect vinegar and oil salad dressing (ugh).
And then, the pièce de résistance, she started ranting about fat, smoking, and poor people. Heaven help me. Did I look like someone who gave a rat's ass what this woman thought about the health and habits of poor people? I Don't Think So. Apparently, back in 1492, she happened to be driving past a soup kitchen and was offended when she saw that some of the folks in line were (gasp!) smoking. Unsurprisingly, she had the brass ovaries to get out of her car, go inside, and complain to one of the workers about it. Who, rightly, told her that charity isn't charity if there are strings attached. I guess that must've pissed her right off, if, years later, she still feels the need to air her grievance to random strangers in the frozen foods department.
At this point, nearly 30 minutes had passed and I was close to homicidal. Yes, I know I could've just walked off or told her I had to go, but I have a hard time being that mean to someone else, even when it's a stranger[1]. Thankfully, some poor guy wanted to get into the ice cream freezer behind us. She started talking to him and forgot about me, so I beat a hasty retreat. As I was waiting in line, I could hear her, across the aisle, assaulting someone else. It sounded like she was picking through their grocery cart, too.
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[1] When I worked at the local newspaper, part of my job involved taking customer service calls. We'd get quite a few of them in the early morning from elderly folks who were obviously lonely and had no one else to talk to. I'm not good at small talk with strangers, so it was very uncomfortable to me to find a way to do what my job required without hurting the caller's feelings or make them feel even lonelier. That job sucked for me on so many levels that I can't even begin to describe the vastness and deepness of its ginormous, hummense suckitude.
red paper boat 