Friday, January 7, 2011

Keep it to yourself....

really.

So, I've been knocked out by a really horrible cold for the past two days. Today, I've finally found enough energy to shower, get dressed, and go the local supermarket to buy some much needed food. Not that doing any of this has been easy. Just the act of putting on clothes and blow-drying my hair made the back of my neck sweat. And, it doesn't help that we're on some sort of "blizzard alert" today. It's been snowing for the past five hours, and I'm waiting for cars to "go missing" under piles of white.

Armed with shopping bag, wallet, and, in case I get lost in the snow, cell phone, I make my way to the nearest, but certainly not best, store. When I moved here last December, I couldn't pronounce the name of this place. It's spelled, G-R-I-S-T-E-D-E-S, and I thought it was called, "Gristeeds." I soon learned, as any local will tell you, that people here call it, "Gris-tee-dees." Three syllables that are synonymous with overpriced product and crap service. Not just crap service, like you find at many other markets, but, like, workers-being-extremely-thoughtless service. Maybe it's just another NY thing that I don't understand.

After using all of my still sick energy going up and down all the aisles trying to find fixings for chicken noodle soup--since I hate shopping here and try to come as infrequently as possible, I never remember where shit is--and some other food staples, I make my way to one of two checkers open. I soon see and hear that they are having what should be a private conversation with each other above the heads of the customers whom they're helping. Their talk is loud and off-putting. The chick who's scanning my food, at one point, picks up the sausages that I'd remembered to buy for the boyfriend and says to her co-worker across the aisle, "Uhhhh, don't these look like intestines? Gross!" I'm thinking, "That's my food, bitch." But, wanting not to cause a small scene by saying anything, I keep a thin smile on my face as I pay for the food and get the hell out of there. Sometimes, I find, it's best to keep one's mouth shut and just get on with it, and, really, the checkers at Gristedes should do the same.

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