When I moved into my neighborhood two Novembers ago, the local grocery store was a hot bed of good looking people. On more than one occasion, my neighbors told me that they do not feel comfortable entering said grocery store in sweats; rather, most people shop after work in suits, heels, cufflinks and nice coiffures. I used to joke that I would meet my future husband in the store’s produce section – maybe dairy.
Then, one day last summer, I was one of those decently dressed persons at the seafood counter ordering peeled shrimp after work. The man behind the seafood counter, after scooping out my pound of shrimp, had scoped something else: he followed me around the store for a while, weaving in and out of aisles, before approaching me for my telephone number somewhere around ethnic foods.
My fantasy was shattered that August day; I had expected the store to be a meat market only this was not how the scenario played out in my mind. I’ve developed into a yuppie snob over the last couple of years and I thought it would be nice to meet someone in the Meat Market, but not someone who worked behind the counter.
A few months ago, on a Friday night, the Meat Market hosted a singles night. I didn’t attend, and I made sure I didn’t need any last minute groceries that night. From what I heard, though, there was bowling with frozen turkeys, and a large divide between the ages.
There should be a clean split between a single service and a grocery store. I learned this the hard way after the seafood server became my seven-day stalker, calling me two / three times a day. I need a separation of body and state-of-hunger.
With my own hunger pangs starting to form, I made my way through the aisles of the Meat Market / dating service tonight. Disheveled and in sweats, I was absentminded and incapable of making a decision as grandiose as what to have for dinner. I settled on a gourmet pizza, dried cherries and cookie dough. Standing in line to check out (in the express lane, of course), I couldn’t help but notice what was in the hands and shopping baskets of those around me. My fellow express-laners were single-sized with a sandwich or a salad or sushi. They were not stock-piling for winter.
As I started nearing the front of the checkout line, I noticed that the cashier looked familiar. For the first time since my phone was ringing off the hook, the seven-day stalker did not recognize the unkempt version of me. He did not hit on me or pay me a second glance. I suppose this makes me a product of my circumstances and energy level.
But it gives me another reason not to go shopping at the Meat Market.
• "A Single Serving" appears second and fourth Mondays every month, exclusively in Lumino Magazine. E-mail Melissa at m.koss@yahoo.com. Photo of Melissa by Anne Coloso.
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he stalked....
Written by Guest on 2006-11-28 06:37:24
and i'm pretty sure that he gave you unpeeled shrimp, since nick and i ate one and it was crunchy. |
Shrimp
Written by Guest on 2006-11-28 16:16:09
That's true. And my apologizes for crunchy shrimp. |
Peter, you have become a pirate!
Written by Guest on 2006-11-29 22:01:53
 What did you used to tell me about the Yuppie ladies who came into the card shop? |
I told you
Written by Guest on 2006-11-30 08:57:46
I told you that I couldn't believe where people spend money (like $40 on paper napkins). I'd like to think that I have wisened up (post-grocery store experience) and that I am less judgmental. I'm no pirate. |
