I just got back from one of those quick trips to the grocery store--the kind where most of the stuff could be bought at a quckie mart, except the ones by us keep going out of business. So, I braved the outside with my father to go to the other
grocery store because the one closer to us doesn't have a parking lot on account it's been ripped up to be repaved. Already the trip wasn't looking good. In the car I was treated to my father's stirring rendition of All-American Rejects' "Move Along". (I'm still humming "Mow the lawn, mow the lawn" as I sit here.)
At the store my father and I got into a pissing contest over where the facial scrubs were in the cosmetic aisle. My father also refused to grab the milk we need until after we got the stuff that didn't need to be cold, cause he thought we were spending an hour at the store. Shopping with my father, it could have been. Facial scrub in hand, I watched my father fight with the liquor cooler to get the two Sharps
boxes on the top shelf, in the very back. The Sharps were the reason for our trip; therefore, talking my father out of shaking the shelves before he spilled all the alcohol on the floor wasn't going to happen. He managed to pull the two remaining boxes out using one of the beer bottles from a pack on the shelf below.
The cashier that helped us was a little, old lady named "Norma Jean". I squeed on the inside. I can only imagine what she made of our purchases: facial scrub (which the company totally repackaged in a smaller size whilst maintaining the original price), a gallon of milk, ice cream, two boxes of Sharps, and Kraft Singles American Cheese.
Then on the way home, there was an ambulance and fire truck parked at the end of the street. A couple kids from the Bicycle Gang were sitting at the cul-de-sac watching. That's the most excitement we get around here.
Back to my editing party!