You say bologna, I say....bologna.

It was last week when I walked into the grocery store. Have you noticed a lot of my stories involve grocery stores?! Anyway, I walked through the produce section stopping only to see what was on sale. I had a short list and didn't want to make a day trip out of it.

I normally don't buy deli meats because they are so expensive but this time I slowed down to look at the glass deli case display. I don't know if you have ever eaten turkey pastrami but it's a nice change of pace and a half pound is doable. Much less fat than regular but basically the same great taste. I slowed my cart to a stop and looked around for the deli person. From my right down at the bakery a woman yelled to me that she would be with me in a minute. I yelled back, "Okay," hopefully relating with my tone that I wasn't in a hurry. I could wait.

I perused the rest of my deli options and noticed the German bologna. Hm. It wasn't expensive, either.

All of a sudden a man was on the other side of the counter. He scared me for a second because I was expecting the woman to show up from my right. He smiled and I noticed he was missing a couple of his teeth. "What can I get you, Ma'am?" There was something about him that was attractive because his aura, being, self, soul was kind. Have you ever met someone and immediately knew they were a nice person? "Do you know what you want?"

I smiled back. "Yes. A half pound of the turkey pastrami sliced thin, please."

"A half pound?"

"Yes. A half pound."

He walked around looking for the package of meat. I've always wondered what the other side of the deli case looked like. The counter person never pulls the package you see through the glass. Are meats thrown haphazardly? Are they in the same order as we view? He was looking around for what seemed like an unusually long time. I thought this guy was going to have to walk down the street to find the turkey pastrami. "A half a pound, right?"

"Yes. That's right." Me not being very nice myself, I thought, "Ask me again."

Once he found the loaf, he walked over to the slicer, ran the hunk of meat through once, and presented to me the example. Upon handing me the slice on the deli paper I told him, "That's good. Thanks."

Smiling, he walked back to the slicer. I was left holding the slice so I ate it. I wasn't all that hungry but I didn't want to insult him. Now I had the piece of paper. I balled it up as I looked around for a garbage receptacle. No such luck so I stuffed it in my jean's pocket and hoped I would remember to throw it out at home.

Walking over, he handed me the pastrami. "Anything else today?"

"Thank you. Yes. A half pound of the Wunderbar® German Bologna, please."

"Excellent choice! It is the best German bologna around."

I felt like he just approved my wine choice! I didn't know what to say. "Oh! Great!" What I was  thinking was that I picked it because it was the least expensive available and I hoped it didn't have ingredients, had I known what they were, that I would really not want to eat.

Following his routine, he came back to the counter and handed me not one but two slices of bologna on a piece of paper. Seeing this deli anomaly, I looked up at him. Did he know he did this? He read my face, nodded and smiled. "Thank you," I said. 

All of this was starting to feel different. He turned back to the slicer. Now I had to eat two slices of bologna and I was definitely not hungry. He was being so kind I couldn't insult him so I took one of the slices and started eating it slowly. I really wished there was a trash receptacle of some kind  nearby but I still didn't spy one.

He was back at the counter sooner than expected. Handing over the package of bologna to me, we smiled at each other and I thanked him. He said, "You come in anytime. I will be here and feed you."

So! There was that.

Did I look like I needed that kind of charity? 

I'm sure all of you people that are good with quick snappy replies could think of any number of things to say in response. I, on the other hand, am not good at that. My mother is the Queen of funny retorts. Too bad I didn't inherit that talent from her like my sister, Eve, did.

I think I just nodded and said, "Thank you." I can't remember! 

I walked away from the deli counter still holding once slice of bologna in my hand. Shit. Now I have to walk around grocery shopping while holding it or effing eat it.....which I did.

Bravery at the Grocery Store

The other morning I was at Winn Dixie making the weekly produce run for work.  Because I am there so early on a weekday, the people that are shopping are pretty much those picking up something before work, or if they work the night shift, grabbing something before heading home.  Rarely do I see the harried moms with one kid holding her hand, the other riding in the cart, and the third tearing boxes off of the shelves.

The store isn't busy.  There's one register with a human and one self-checkout open.  Occasionally I will have a disgruntled patron standing behind me with a few items in their arms waiting for my cart full of my fruits, vegetables, and bleach to be rung up.  If I see them and I haven't started to check-out yet, I'll always offer them the option of moving ahead of me.  It surprises me when, out of a sense of fair play, my offer is rejected.  I can see the wheels turning in their heads while they are trying to decide what the right thing to do is.

That morning, I noticed a man with short salt and pepper hair in his late 50s.  Early 60s at the most. His right arm was tucked against his chest, his hand bent downward at the wrist.  His right leg wasn't in sync so when he walked, his foot never fully left the floor causing it to drag.  It was one of those errant children lagging behind the group.  The one that the mother has to keep turning around to check on and urging to keep up.  My guess was he suffered a stroke.

His face was stoic as he went about the store.  No smile.  Just business concentrating on the task at hand.  I wondered how many physical therapy sessions he endured to get him to where he was now.  Surely he was just as brave during those as he was now grocery shopping.  For a man that exuded self-sufficiency, I'm sure this was a battle he didn't like fighting every day.  Maybe minute to minute, depending on what he was asking his body to do.  Always capable, now having to be patient with himself.

Having finished shopping and with my trunk loaded up, I was back in my car ready for the drive to work.  After stowing the grocery receipt in the usual place in my tote bag, I looked up and saw him again.  He had walked his empty cart to the parking lot repository.  For him, there wasn't a question as to whether to leave it in the grass or in a parking space.  His sense of right and wrong couldn't, wouldn't, be denied no matter the extra effort it took.

I watched him walk, way too quickly, back to his car. I was scared for him that he would trip and fall as he pushed himself.  His drive to be normal, to not let this affliction dominate his life, was more powerful than taking the risk of the humiliation of falling down.  He made it without a mishap and I let go of the breath I was holding.

I hope he is good to himself.  I hope he doesn't hate who he is now.  I hope he defines himself by his bravery, not his loss.  I hope he continues to recover.  I hope he smiles.

It's the law

One night last week, after working all day, driving an hour to get home, feeding the critters, and walking the dog, I ventured back out of the house to make a Publix run.  It is a short drive and I managed to find a most excellent parking spot.  After I got out of the car and started walking to the store entrance, I was nearly shoulder to shoulder with a member of law enforcement.  He confidently and with an air of grandiose ego law enforcement obnoxiousness moved ahead of me.  My immediate reaction was my gut clenching with annoyance but then I shot his back with a quick once over.

His head was a buzz cut and his uniform was dark green.   He looked surprising old to still be on the streets and not doing desk work.  Maybe he just isn't that good and never got promoted.

Sitting low on his waist he had on his super hero belt with all of its interesting and deadly gadgets intact. I bypassed his ass.  I was just not interested.  Then I saw his shoes.  What the heck?!  They were so shiny and perfect in their patent leather awesomeness!  Light rays from the Publix signage bounced off of them.  How does a cop, or sheriff's office deputy, or whatever manage to keep his shoes so clean?  Did he not have to run down any bad guys?  Did he not have to ummm....do his JOB.....and in the process get his shoes dirty?

The Publix near my house is small.  Instead of visiting and feeling regular sized, one feels like they are a part of a dollhouse.  I'm not sure what they were thinking when they decided to move into the space.  Maybe it was, "Let's find enough space to stock it with half the stuff we normally sell so when people walk the aisles they won't have trouble deciding what to buy because there isn't much stuff."  To make up for the lack of space to put stuff and sell stuff, someone decided to make the entry area unnecessarily large.  (Is this the same as when men buy large trucks?)

So, I'm still behind Mr. Law Enforcement when he stops to pick up a hand basket.  I need a basket too so I stop.  I wait as he chats up the homeless population 4 deep sitting on the long bench against the wall that one must walk by in order to get into the second door which leads the shopper to the inner sanctum of shopping.  As Mr. L. E., officer to you, is talking I am staring at the pile of hand baskets willing him to get started.  He reaches down and lifts up the top basket and I am thinking, "Finally!" but wait!  He lifts up the basket under the top basket, too.  He then lifts in unison the top two baskets and takes the 3rd one down.  What?  WHAT?

Does her really think the 3rd one down is cleaner, newer, better?  Why is the 3rd one down better?  Have the germs had more time to die on it?  Then it dawned on me.  That's why his shoes are so clean.  One word - OCD.  Okay, not one word but one acronym.  Anyway, he's a little spit shine crazy, isn't he?

Now it was my turn to pick up a basket.  I looked in the top one and no garbage was in it so I took it.