Last Thursday night I had an experience while grocery shopping. I’m not sure if this particular experience captures me, or answers any deep questions about who I am, but it most certainly paints a picture. It snaps a photograph. It shares some insight, perhaps, into a typical day in my life.
Harris Teeter welcomed me as I briskly stepped in from the awfully wet and freezing night. Only a few items on my grocery list, I headed toward the bread isle with an incredibly naive sense of efficiency. I was sure to be in and out in 20 minutes if I stayed focused and strictly avoided the vast selection (ie. Bermuda Triangle) of cookies on Aisle 4.
Bread. As I made my way past the organic vegetables and spun my cart around the corner, I noticed a young, attractive, well-dressed couple having an intelligent discussion about the differences of whole wheat and whole grain. My bread was at the other end of the aisle, so I followed standard Harris Teeter etiquette and politely smiled.
“Excuse me,” I said sweetly and easily pushed my cart past theirs. As I did this I noticed that the woman had peacock feathers in her hair.
I began scanning the shelves, and just as I reached for my honey wheat, I was suddenly surprised by the gentle placement of a hand on my shoulder. I spun around to find myself facing the husband of the peacock lady.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, raising his brows to emote his deep concern. “This is our first time in a grocery store.”
I quickly began laughing at the absurdity of his comment, assuming that he must have been joking. When I finally noticed that his concern only worsened the more I laughed, I became greatly confused. Is he serious? Sarcastic maybe? He continued to stare at me. Awkward. I smiled again, and wheeled my cart away. I was thrown off, but had not lost my motivation to get out of the store in a timely fashion.
Next on the list: Soup. Aisle 7.
As I stood in awe of the wall of cans, hoping to see something new and intriguing, around the corner of the isle came an old man, slowly pushing an empty grocery cart. He was a black man, short and stocky, and wore on his head a type of African tribal hat (or so I assumed).
“Hello,” I said, as I smiled and made room for him in the isle.
“Hello!” He replied emphatically in a thick African accent. “Are you from France?”
I was confused. “France?! Haha, no,” and thinking I was funny said, “Are you from France?!”
“Oh no no!” He chuckled, “No, Ah am from Connecticut.”
“Oooooooooo ok,” I nodded my head as if it all made sense.
“Oh, yes” he laughed and put his hand on my cart. “Ah almost died der’.”
I’m sorry... I was no longer interested in the time. “Whaaat..How did you almost die there!?”
“Well,” he sighed, “One day, Ah just jumped into de’ lake. And den’ Ah was like ‘AHHH!’” With this, the man wildly flailed his arms and reenacted his fear of drowning in the middle of Aisle 7.
I was indeed intrigued. “Why did you jump into the lake?!”
“Well,” he replied now exasperated, “it was so HOT!”
I tried to understand. “Was it too deep? Do you not know how to swim?”
Laughing, the man waved. “Of course Ah can swim! No, no, it was so hot so Ah jumped into de’ lake...” He raised his brows as he leaned in. “…and mah’ feet got stuck in de’ mud!”
With this, the man turned and waved, laughing as he disappeared into the frozen food section. He just left me there, with nothing but bread in my cart. Typical. Again, I was thrown off.
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