Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Fiber Optics (Or, Eatin' Good in the 'Hood)
There's a grocery store in my neighborhood that I love, but hardly ever go to. It's a little too far south to be convenient, so I only shop there when I happen to have some extra time for a stroll. I won't name the store...but I will say this: their chicken salad is like crack. It drives me crazy and I can't get enough of it.
I'd turn tricks for it if I had to.
Also of note...once, in my haste to get my hands and face and mouth all over a batch of said addictive chicken salad, I bashed into Susan Sarandon in front of the deli counter. I tried to play it cool, but that was nearly impossible, considering how lovely she is in person...and how jonesed up I was for that damn chicken salad.
Anyway, last week I was able to hit the place for a fix of the chix since I had a client meeting not far from there. It was the middle of the afternoon, so the store was fairly empty. I was in line at the register behind a woman who had a python wallet inside another python wallet inside a python checkbook inside another python wallet inside a python bag inside a bigger python bag inside a python bucket tote, so I had to wait a while for her to disassemble and reassemble all of her python accessories.
I didn't mind the wait, since I was loaded down with a bounty of chicken salad.
However, the woman behind me in line was not having Ms. Python and her luxe version of a Russian nested doll.
The woman behind me began sighing and groaning very loudly as the accessories trade-show unfurled. After a solid minute of this groaning, she started pushing her cart back and forth and bending over as if she had some sort of abdominal cramps.
I wouldn't have noticed what the groaner had in her cart had she not bashed me with it a couple of times in her contortions.
Her cart was filled with bags of fresh spinach, containers of hummus, and enough whole grain products to feed the Israeli army.
While I paid for the chicken salad, I realized the poor woman was so high in fiber that she was about to burst at the, uh, seams, right there in line and all her groaning and cramping and sighing was a grown-up version of a kid's poo-poo dance.
And, no, the groaner wasn't Susan Sarandon.