I had a rather interesting experience late this afternoon
when I stopped at my local grocery store, wanting to buy one of the delicious, cooked barbecue chickens. I’d had a hankering
all weekend for one, but living in the ‘tourist’ town that I do, I don’t dare
go near the street the grocery store is on.
It’s the main road into our beautiful beach park and every nice weather
day in the summer and especially weekends, it’s an endless line of red tail
lights, casting a raspberry glow as far as the eye can see. I try to wait until the out-of-towners have
departed our usually serene beach town to go back to their hot and smoggy
cities from whence they’ve come.
On Monday, the hankering can be denied no more. I deliberately time my arrival at the grocery
store so I could get one of the just-out-of-the rotisserie, piping hot and
juicy chickens. Alas, I was there about
10 minutes too early. The deli clerk,
recognizing me as a regular, managed to let me know that they (being the
chickens) would be out of the rotisserie in about 10-15 minutes. She is multi-tasking; serving the
can’t-make-up-my-mind-Asian-Persuasion-Grandma who was there with her 6 grand
kids and the mother (I think) of said grand kids and who wanted every… single …
piece, chosen by each .. and … every … grand kid, with a great deal of time-consuming
thought and mind-changing, packed separately.
The clerk is a shining example of patience and Customer Service. Me, not so much in the patience area.
I am grateful though, that the clerk knows what I’m wanting
to ask and I don’t have to wait until Grandma is done.
I said I’d be back and cruise the store for the next few minutes, stopping to check out the bunkers of fresh meat, hoping I could score one or two steaks on special, hopefully cheap enough that I wouldn’t have to mortgage my house or perhaps sell my ample, curvy, luscious body by the pound, on the street corner in order to afford it Nope, no such luck. The ones on special are cut pretty big and so weigh in around the $17.00 mark for 2 in the package. I used to love red meat but as I’ve matured, discovered it doesn’t love me as much I love it. Someone mentioned that ‘they’ were feeding the cows grain now, instead of hay or field grasses and that’s probably why I’m reacting to it. Apparently cows shouldn’t be eating grain – it’s just not natural. Hmmm, “That explains a lot”, I think to myself and now try to make sure that when I can afford to buy red meat, it’s eaten the right stuff, before I eat it.
I do a fast pass of the store, checking out the specials and
picking up the cat grass my cats love to eat.
Then they promptly upchuck on the beige wall-to-wall carpeting in the
living room. Scoped out the pop isle too
and was disappointed not to find the ginger soda I treat myself to now and
again. Oh well, saved some money there.
I make my way back to the chicken counter and notice that it
seems to be a popular place to hang out.
There are about 7 or 8 people clustered against the bread bins opposite
the counter. I station myself in front
of the chicken bunker and I’m having fun watching the clerk, packaging up the hot
chickens, efficiently, gracefully and somewhat hypnotically, as she works her
way through about 20 of the golden brown birds, steaming on the stainless steel
counter.
I am shaken out of my reverie by a stentorian voice,
proclaiming, “Why do you think WE’RE all standing here?”
Huh? Is he talking to
me? Gob smacked, the penny drops when I
realize why all of these are people are
draped over the bread bins. They must be
waiting for one of the mouth-watering chickens too. I turn around and say, VERY LOUDLY, “Oh, I’ve
been here a lot longer than you. The
clerk has one with my name on it but thank you for saying what you did loud
enough for the entire store to hear”, and turn back to watch the clerk. The smug look on the loud mouth’s face had quickly
dropped off when he realized that I don’t embarrass easy.
AND, he just can’t leave sleeping dogs lie. Within a minute or so I feel movement behind
me and he says, close to my ear, but again, very loudly, “So if you have one
reserved, why do you have to stand right up by the counter?”
I heave a deep sigh and turn around and reply, “You’re just not
going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
“You should. You
tried to embarrass me by yelling what you did before and you just ended up
embarrassing yourself. Now you’re just
trying to keep it going, so you can try, once again, to ‘get’ me." He starts to say he isn’t embarrassed but I
just hold up my hand and say, “Speak to the hand”, which seemed to, at last,
shut him up. He mutters something I
can’t really hear (for a change) and I turn around and resume my watch on the
clerk who is packaging up my dinner. A
couple of the waiting people comment on how great it is to be able to buy one
of the fabulous chickens for only $7.99 and that’s when I realize that it’s
Monday and the chickens are on special from the usual $10.99. It also explains the ‘line-up’. It doesn’t explain the Chicken Police though,
as it’s obvious that there are more than enough birds for everyone who’s waiting.
The clerk brings 4 chickens and puts them on the top of the counter. I take
two, and as I start to turn around, The Chicken Police is already starting
to speak, wanting to make, I’m sure, a sarcastic comment, because I had taken two. I hand one to him and say, “Enjoy.” He promptly, and I’m sure he thinks,
gallantly – did he actually bow as he hands it to the woman who is standing
beside him? She graciously thanks him
and walks away.
I make my way to the check out and as I finish paying, I hear
someone say, from a couple of check-outs away, and loudly enough for half the
store to hear, including me (uh huh, I see him looking at me), “Oh yes, I’m
going to enjoy every delicious bite’, I assume he’s referring to the chicken. He still couldn’t just leave it be, as his
icy stare tries to drill holes into the back of my hard Irish head.
I can’t imagine expending THAT MUCH energy on this kind of
thing, whether it’s a real or imagined slight; an act of what he considers
rudeness, butting ‘the line’. Even if I
was butting, instead of trying to embarrass me by making snide comments loudly
enough to be overheard by about a third of the store (and it’s a pretty big
store), he could have approached me quietly and personally and suggested that I
go to the back of ‘The Line’. At which
point in time I could have, quietly and personally, told him that I was first
in his imaginary ‘line’ and keep the other things I’m thinking to myself.
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| My Chicken Angel
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