Clean Up, Aisle 4

June 30th, 2005

After work I stopped in at the ‘Gay - that’s my special name for the cheerful, cherry red shopping mecca known as Super Target. At the checkout stand, as usual, the poor little price check girl was completely flustered as she failed to correctly ID my bokchoy, turnips and watercress.

Today I watched, unabashed in my amusement, as this cashier, eyes wide with panic, began a mad, twitchy flipfest through her laminated vegetable code book. In her mind, ran thoughts like: What the f*&% is a spaghetti squash? Who the F*&% buys organic parsnips? Why in holy hell is this health nut, miscreant customer ogling me and laughing like some ten-year-old-boy whose just snorted pixie sticks? F*&%, Sh*t and Santa Maria!

Yes indeed, when I buy vegetables, the cashier is my bitch. A master of all things organic, I am the pimp of produce.

Yeah, today I enjoyed the requisite failure to recognize the garden fresh items in my cart. But sometimes this blatant ignorance by supermarket employees - who often can’t tell asparagus from their ass - really cheeses me off. I mean, I’ve had checkers ask me what freaking green beans are!

In instances like these, where it’s obvious that I’m dealing with someone who has ganglia for brains, I find it very difficult to restrain myself, to squelch my overpowering, animalistic desire to reach across that conveyor belt, grab “Darlene” by her shiny, shellacked hairdo, and at the top of my lungs scream, “YOU! OUTTA THE GENE POOL!”

But I digress.

Despite the checkers’ vegetable-induced theatrics, or rather because of it, I had a very delightful shopping trip this eve. The grand finale at this event: as Darlene was bagging my goods, I heard a loud crash behind me and some gurgling noises. I turned around just in time to see a Mr. Mom do an amazing, though not successful, juggling act wherein New Bouncing Babe was on one bicep, a bag of nappies was on the other.

Just like it was scripted, just like a bad supermarket sitcom, I watched as the pampers, an open container of Johnson’s baby powder, a tube of ointment, and tub of wipes went ass-over-teakettle, falling from the stroller to the floor in a glorious, discordant cacophony. Like fine morning mist over the moors of Ireland, talcum powder rose in a cloud around me as I made my exit from that wonderful place that I call, the ‘Gay.

2 Haus Calls for “Clean Up, Aisle 4”

  1. Anonymous Says:

    Know just what you mean since I went on my bride’s blood type diet along with her. Been meaning to find out my own blood type but haven’t gotten around to it just yet. Usually the tie wraps around the turnip greens identify them as such but not always. Eating mainly fish instead of pork roast and beef was a tremendous challenge and, for awhile at least, totally unsatisfying to eat. Then one evening I had enough and the creative juices began to flow, shaken loose by anger. Yes it is possible to make sauces out of “approved” food items and rutabagas and mustard greens can be made to taste exotic and wonderful. Thank God for shellfish!! I am even considering trying squid. It now takes me thirty to forty minutes to make a salad. The days of lettuce and carrots are over. Now I even like to eat salad. It ain’t just for rabbits any more.

    chef url

  2. Minister Brady Says:

    Hey, Hey, Hey! Congrats Hanni & Blake! It’s great you news to hear that you both are married and doing well. I was talkn IM to John told me the good news and how to write to ya. So God Bless both of you. Brady

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