I’ve been brought up well in a family where savings are prized and frugality is king. As I grow older, however, I’ve learned that seeking out bargains can sometimes come at a cost – one that I probably shouldn’t be willing to pay.
A couple of nights ago after work, anticipating my apartment would have that certain “tropical” feel sans air conditioning and knowing that my fridge was empty, I decided it would be the perfect time to enjoy the superb cooling system of my car and take a trip to the grocery store, one that I will hereinafter refer to as The Store That Shall Not Be Named (“TSTSNBN”).
Just like with Voldemort (that’s a Harry Potter reference for all of you confused readers), the mere utterance of TSTSNBN’s name is predictably followed by gasps, shrieks, and looks of horror. I’ll admit – it’s not my first choice in grocery venues. In fact, it’s probably not even my fifth. But when push comes to shove, sometimes it’s just not economical to do all your grocery shopping at some place like Whole Foods, or even somewhere like Safeway for that matter, especially when you can still get the same brand-named ingredients for a fraction of the cost (and at the same time brush up on your bagging skills!). TSTSNBN is truly a “no frills” kind of place. While this is something that normally would be a quality commendable in a company, it probably wouldn’t hurt if TSTSNBN had a few. After all, the typical experience at this establishment likely results in pushing your cart around at top speed (imagine the pace contestants take in the final round of Supermarket Sweep and then double it) and getting the heck out of there before the usual clientele has you clenching your wallet or handbag, all the while feeling convinced that you have lost all sense of class you thought you once had. Ok, maybe I’m being a little dramatic here – maybe a little snobby too. But if you’ve been there and you’ve experienced it firsthand, surely you’d agree with my haughty assessment.
Maybe it was the air conditioning I was enjoying so much, or perhaps it was that long day of staring at my computer in the office, but for whatever reason my latest TSTSNBN trip caught me in a more spaced out disposition, with my usual snooty guard down. Deep in thought in the leafy green section, debating the cheap bag of spinach vs. the more expensive box of organic mixed greens (the latter eventually won), my mental pro/con list suddenly got interrupted by a young man I sensed was standing directly behind me. And so I turned around.
“Hello there,” the 20-something, pimpled-face, homely-looking guy greeted me. “How are you doing today?”
“Oh just fine, thank you.” I responded. Abort. Abort. My eyes darted around, looking for my quickest escape. Avocados. Yes, I needed an avocado! So I pushed that squeaky cart (still without a decision made on the greens) and moved swiftly to the bin of avocados at the end of the aisle before he could say another word. Whew, that was a close one.
After picking out that avocado I figured would be perfectly ripe in approximately three days, I headed back to the greens, determined to make a final decision (come on, Allison, this wasn’t that difficult). Big mistake. I wasn’t there 15 seconds before I heard a familiar voice.
“Hi. Um, my name is ______. So, uh, I’m currently a student at _______ University.” Oh shoot, I thought, was this guy selling something? Turns out he was, in a sense. “I’m studying computer science. And I play the guitar.” I immediately channeled my acting days and tried my best to hold a straight face. I anticipated where this was going, and the lawyer in me kicked in to think quickly on my feet and conjure up my rebuttal after his opening statement. “And I, uh, was wondering if you, uh, would like to go out sometime.”
“I’m sorry, ________. I actually have a boyfriend.” Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned. (In my defense, sometimes a little white lie must be told for protection.) After spewing out my fib, I realized I’ve never seen a guy take rejection so well, as he disappeared before I could even consider stupefying him. Well, at least I could check “Get hit on” off my grocery list.
I managed to dodge any and all other highly suspect TSTSNBN patrons, and I got to the checkout stand, chuckling to myself about my little run-in in the produce section and reflecting on how you never know when you’ll meet Mr. Right (no, this was not one of those times). As I placed all my bargains on the conveyor belt while reading the lastest shocking US Weekly headlines (so shocking in fact, that I have absolutely no recollection of what they were), an older, very short man (like, half my size) standing in front of me in line said something that seemed to be directed at me. I could have been imagining things, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t speaking English.
“What was that?” I asked, leaning forward and feeling like a giant.
[Inaudible.] Ok, it wasn’t just my imagination. This was definitely not English. This was Russian.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
In a very strong accent with widened eyes, he exclaimed, “You don’t speak Russian?!?!”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know lick of Russian. Why, do I look Russian?” I asked.
“Oh YES!! You could be onnnnne huuuuuuuuundred perrrrrcent Russian!!!”
Huh. What do ya know. I’ve been called a lot of things in my 28 years, but Russian was not one of them. But hey, I thought, looking on the bright side, at least he didn’t ask me out.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment