Tuesday, April 11, 2006

The tiny cuts in your skin They let a little fresh air in

Bookstore associates can deal with what you are buying. Deep into White Power music of the 1980s? 14th Century torture gear? Whatevs, Jack. Some purchase combinations do raise eyebrows, however.

Pale, slightly mushy-looking male, age somewhere in mid-forties. Hair dyed obviously black. "The Magic of Sex", "The Good Vibrations Guide to the G Spot", "101 Nights of Grrreat Romance" and about ten different titles from the R.L. Stine "Goosebumps" series, which mostly serve adolescent reading needs, if you didn't know.

Only historical antecedent: 1992. Working as a bagger at Crystal Lake Jewel/Osco, often the early morning or late night shifts. Elderly people with shopping carts are infinitely hazardous. Anyway, midnight hour approaches register station 3, the cash-only aisle. Handsome man, nicely dressed, can't be a day over 30. Into his plastic bag we place one economy-sized bottle of "personal" lubricant, two white roses, a package of 12 Trojan ribbed propholactics, and a very large frozen Butterball turkey. It is mid-June. Either there is some serious apologizing going on or....well, you know. Not quite the stuffing Aunt Dot was fond of. Especially if you knew Aunt Dot.

Moments ago: Aggresively attired black gentleman with solid black outfit circa Eazy-E 1989, and black face paint applied psuedo-Darkthrone fashion is moonwalking up Milwaukee Ave., ghetto blaster on his shoulder pumping UGK quite loudly. He makes eye contact with no one else on the street. Jon hopes he comes back. We remain indifferent, fearing the genesis of another neighborhood tourism goodwill streetperformance outlet.




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2 comments:

jds said...

hardy laffs from this one, man

i have a similar quick story from my retail days gone by to share - Valentine's Day, 2002, Walgreens front register, closing time, and i'm pretty much clincally depressed after a day of utterly bleak commerce and a recent breakup nightmare was so raw that even Don Henley songs on the drugstore intercom started speaking to me (definition of humiliation): so anyway, 10 minutes till doors close, a young dreadlocked black man with calm self-confidence lays out his V-day evening plans in the form of a teddy bear, roses, condoms, KY and 1 gallon of milk. I survey the goods, absorb, manage a half smile, and ask the dude straight out "ok, i get this scenario, except for one thing... what about the milk?". answer was for the ages: my baby loves to get in the tub and have me pour up the milk, she's freaky like that. my night was much improved, just to know such things were possible. kind of the opposite of the creepy afterglows of your stories, but there it is.

dexatrim said...

my mother and I have been playing the grocery-combo game for years, and the undefeated champion by far is the one-two punch of tampons and superglue.