FOOD SHOPPIN’ (PART 2)
I breeze up to the first self-serve register, scan my store card and start sliding the items from my shopping cart (bar-code down) across the electronic scanner. It produces a cheery “beep!” when I successfully complete a scan.
I stop at the six-pack of beer and wait for the kid to come over, eye my identification, and start silently through my predictable gush, “Gee, I haven’t gotten carded in years!”
I continue to scan my items. But then, horror of horrors, I get stuck. Me, veteran shopper, proud darling of the Electronic Age. The stupid machine is asking me what kind of stupid bananas these are. Like there is more than one variety of stupid, yellow bananas to choose from. It’s asking me if these are “dwarf” bananas. How the heck would I know?
And isn’t it politically incorrect to refer to them that way even if they were? Maybe this is a test. If I choose the “dwarf” banana type, my choice will become part of some graduate student’s thesis proving “the persistence of certain archetypical naming conventions as they pertain to those of lesser physical stature”.
But, God-love-me, I don’t see “vertically-challenged bananas” as a choice. I’m all out of ideas and starting to panic. The machine is nagging at me to make a choice. I’m sweating despite the cold and the pimply-faced kid is coming my way again.
“Can I help you? What’s the trouble?” The kid’s lips curl in the slightest of smirks.
“It’s the bananas. I don’t know which to choose.” I sound lame even to myself. I rub the back of my hand across my runny nose and absently down my pants. The kid’s smirk turns into a look of disgust. He reaches around me and rapidly punches some buttons on the register.
The register beeps contently. I feel humiliated, so I don’t even notice what type of bananas he chooses. The kid finishes, moving away from me quickly as if I carry plague.
“There. All fixed now.” The kid smiles triumphantly, like he just scaled Mt. Everest.
I finish scanning the remaining groceries, pay my bill, and beat a hasty retreat outside into the warmth and sunshine. But I’m bursting with righteous indignation, thinking…
“I say, verify, how is it that you, knave, meager slip of a boy, are employed whilst I am not? It’s a sad, sad state of affairs that in this World there is a great upheaval of values. You have minimum-wage worth. While I, with all my graduate, professional skills, honor, and brightness of spirit, do not. I have fallen from grace — spurned by Corporate America. Cast aside like so much sludge to contemplate an interminable stay in this wretched realm of the over-qualified and under-employed.”
As I am pondering life’s injustices, I pull out the grocery-store receipt. The kid chose the “dwarf” bananas.
If you're enjoying this over coffee, tea, or whatever, please consider buying me a cup!ONE OF THEM TOO
“Ya wanna go for a walk?”
“Are you nuts! It’s the dog days of summer!”
“Yeah, but it’s evening and cooling down.”
“Right, it’s cooled way down from a sweltering 99 to a right frosty 89, with the humidity still matching it point for point!”
Ever since moving to North Carolina, I find the summer heat unbearable and the humidity to be suffocating. I’m grateful every day for air conditioning that works! It’s good to be grateful. It takes my mind off lamenting.
Still, I long for the environs of Michigan, the place I grew up. There are four full seasons there, as opposed to the two seasons we have here — “hot” and “less hot.” I remember the promise of Spring, with whispering warmth softly melting the long chill. Looking up one day, I’d see vibrant green leaves sprouting on the barren limbs of waking trees. Leading to just the right amount of Summer; not too hot and long enough to be appreciated, savored, and enjoyed for the gift of its bounty.
Then there comes the crisp mornings of Autumn, adorned in its colorful array of gilded foliage! Paving the way for the rest and solitude of Winter. A chance for repose, to put into perspective where I’ve been and allowing me space to ponder where I will go. It offers the excitement of tobogganing down white hills glistening in the tempered rays of the Winter sun. Or a pensive shush through snow blanketed woods while cross-country skiing.
It’s ironic, but Winter was when I had the greatest chance to become overheated, dressing too warmly when going skiing. But then, I was smart enough to layer my clothing and could simply peel back as my internal temperature rose in tandem with my rising love of the beauty surrounding me.
Others, of course, would complain about the frigid temperatures, the hassle of snow, the treachery of ice. But with a little forethought and planning, the sting of those conditions could be brought under control quite easily. All it takes is acceptance of one’s situation and giving up the futile fight to overcome the iron hand of nature.
Acceptance is the true catalyst for tolerance. And tolerance promotes coexistence. Why can’t those complainers simply . . . accept . . . their . . . situation . . . letting tolerance open up the door to appreciating and enjoying the natural wonder surrounding them each moment.
Hmmmm, I guess I’ve become one of them, haven’t I? But for me it’s the blistering heat of North Carolina summers instead of the biting cold of Michigan winters. Funny how the wall of bias can blindside us, robbing us of the luster of life.
“Hey, ya still wanna go for that walk?”
If you're enjoying this over coffee, tea, or whatever, please consider buying me a cup!
