About once a month, Joyce and I head over to the Marc's in Aurora (it's a discount grocery store for those of you not from this area). There, we buy some things we know we're going to need for the month--some things that are cheaper there than at the "regular" grocery stores we go to.
I get jugs of pomegranate juice--not because I like it (I don't) but because its attributes include things that annoy prostate cancer. I drink 8 oz at every lunch. We also buy our dishwasher products there--pellets and rinse. And Marc's also has a great supply of flour products, and Baker Dan likes to grab bags of things from Bob's Red Mill to use in his weekly bake-a-thons.
Last night. BTW, I saw this sight on a shelf ... gluten wars! Side by side ...
Last night, our cart filled with "our" products (and a couple of other things), we got in line (only two were open), and we immediately realized we'd picked the wrong one. Two (older) sisters were ahead of us with a large cart filled with a potpourri of things, from slippers to sliced turkey. The slippers were the problem. No price tag.
So ... the long wait commenced while various employees trotted back to the "slipper" area and tried to find a price.
They were nice women, actually. Apologetic. And because one of the re-usable shopping bags they'd bought had a bunch of dog pictures on it, we got to talking about dogs. When they told me one of their dogs was a Lab (they had two others, as well), I told them the story of the Lab we once had, a creature that ate an entire batch of homemade pasta I'd made and had left to dry in the kitchen. (We were having company for dinner.) When Joyce and I came downstairs and saw the drying racks were empty and the Lab had that yeah-I-did-it look on his face (mingled with a dollop of shame, I guess), I flipped out--had to go to the grocery store, in a rage, to buy some commercial pasta ...
In line behind us last night was a young father with his teenage daughter. We joked with them--about how we were going to demand price checks on everything we'd bought.
Turns out his daughter had just left Harmon Middle School (I taught in that middle school for about 30 years) and was headed into her first year at Aurora High. She thought I was really old when I told her I'd taught the current AHS assistant principal in 8th grade. But her ear buds were in, her phone was playing something, so ... who knows?
We were in line--I kid you not--for nearly half an hour. A new record for us, I think.
The young woman at the register was apologetic, but none of it was her fault. And then we learned it was only her third day at work. Both Joyce and I thought she'd handled the whole thing with supreme patience and calm. I think she'd make a great kindergarten teacher. (Or middle school.) (Or whatever-on-earth she wants to do with herself.)
We were finally out of there, and as we stepped outside to head to the car, the rain started falling.
Perfect end to a perfect day ...
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