Skip to main content

Finding Characters at the Grocery Store

 There’s the linebacker, the man with no patience.  He came to the grocery store to hunt and gather and no one or nothing will keep him from his objective. He has no patience with the coupon-toting mama or the comparison maven.  He Mad Max’s his way down the middle of the grocery aisles, oblivious to any rules of the road or kindness. He doesn’t care of the mayhem he created in pursuit of a deli chicken and a six pack of beer.
There’s the rooky, the first timer. He didn’t grab a basket on his way in and now is standing in the middle of the aisle.  He holds a grocery list and his cell phone in one hand, and he is balancing several bulky items in the other.  He yells into the phone that “they all look alike,” as he studies all the boxes on the shelf. One young mother reaches around him and grabs a box. A woman who could be his mother grabs another.  He shrugs and shoves a box of the same unto his arm with his cell phone and grocery list hand and runs off.  Maybe the next time he takes on the family grocery shopping, he will get a basket before venturing into the bowels of the grocery store.
Not all men dare the grocery store by themselves. 
There’s the suave playboy.  He is too busy to drive the cart for his wife.  He stands apart so the “babes” at the grocery store won’t confuse him with being married.  While his wife studies the cans of tomatoes, he effuses smarminess and charm. He chats with every passing female and winks at the young ones. If his wife catches him hitting on a woman, he affects a look of innocence.  His wife calls out in a voice we all can hear and exposes Mr. Charm for all that he is (or isn’t), “Don’t let me forget the prunes.  You know how you get if you don’t eat prunes.” 
The grazer can always be found dashing from one freebie stand to another.  He sometimes goes it alone while his wife is shopping or he stampedes with his whole family.  “Over here.  They’re serving sausage bites over here!” He not only leaves his trash on nearby displays or at the bottom of their grocery cart but he also tastes the grapes or helps himself to a free donut out of the bakery case. From the size of the waistline of his khakis, he has done this often.
The one male shopper who probably has the most interesting back story, is the bully.  He drives the shopping basket because he wants to know how every bit of his hard earned money is spent. Every item the wife puts into the basket has to be approved by him first. He never bothers to talk quietly to his wife, but yells in a voice for all to hear. He makes sure we all know that it is HIS money that will pay for all of that extravagance. 
He makes all the others look good.
I am sure there are other “types,” but these are the ones who always stand out and catch the writer's eye. 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.I sputter.I hyperventilate.I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties. I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several).

Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting. Me first: The facts:My mom f…

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt different t…

Grandma’s Dining Table

Twenty five years ago my first husband and I bought a new home with four bedrooms and three baths, but my favorite part of the house was the enormous room you walked into from the front door. It had no dividing wall but the design was to use half of it as a formal living and the other half as a formal dining. From the beginning I decided to make it into one huge dining room that would catch the eye when everyone walked in through the front door of my home.   My three children were very young, but I envisioned them grown and married. We counted five at the time, but one day we would grow to eight, maybe more if we factored in grandchildren, so I bought a table that sat a family of twelve.  My husband thought it silly to look that far ahead and convinced me to buy only ten chairs. The room looked magnificent – the long, majestic table, the ten chairs, the buffet, a couple of real ficus, and a few other nice pieces of furniture – I was pleased. The table lasted longer than the marriage, a…