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Checkout Roulette
Doing unto others at the grocery store
Sometimes, in the freelance life, payment lags. Sometimes it lags a long time. Ideally, a writer has a big cushion of savings, but sometimes those savings run low. Under just such a misalignment of the stars, I stood in front of the freezer at my local grocery store, trying to figure out how I could feed the 14 students I had coming over for the end-of-term dinner that night — with my last $12.
The pan of lasagna I usually buy for these dinners costs $14.87. (I usually buy two, but I'd settle for one.) I stared at the shelves, half-hoping I might find a few dollars in change at the bottom of my purse. But I knew better; I'd cleaned out the change days ago. As though the universe, like a bad novelist, hoped to underline my plight, a slim man sidled up beside me and asked a question. He spoke softly, slurring his words, so it took me a moment to realize he was making an unsavory proposition.
"Go away," I told him.
Still, he stood there a few more moments, while I peered through the freezer case, adding up the cost of two small trays of lasagna. Still too expensive. When the creepy guy was gone, I made my way over to the dairy aisle to price cheese; I'd just have to make the lasagna from scratch. I had meat at home. Maybe I could cover enough of the other ingredients to make two pans.
As I was wondering if I could get away with the smallest package of mozzarella, I noticed the creepy guy had crept back. He was standing two aisles away, peering around the aisle at me. When I approached a young man stocking the dairy section, the creep fled. I asked the stock guy to walk me to the front.
The pan of lasagna I usually buy for these dinners costs $14.87. (I usually buy two, but I'd settle for one.) I stared at the shelves, half-hoping I might find a few dollars in change at the bottom of my purse. But I knew better; I'd cleaned out the change days ago. As though the universe, like a bad novelist, hoped to underline my plight, a slim man sidled up beside me and asked a question. He spoke softly, slurring his words, so it took me a moment to realize he was making an unsavory proposition.
"Go away," I told him.
Still, he stood there a few more moments, while I peered through the freezer case, adding up the cost of two small trays of lasagna. Still too expensive. When the creepy guy was gone, I made my way over to the dairy aisle to price cheese; I'd just have to make the lasagna from scratch. I had meat at home. Maybe I could cover enough of the other ingredients to make two pans.
As I was wondering if I could get away with the smallest package of mozzarella, I noticed the creepy guy had crept back. He was standing two aisles away, peering around the aisle at me. When I approached a young man stocking the dairy section, the creep fled. I asked the stock guy to walk me to the front.
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