Friday, May 22, 2009

I'm off ice cream

Grocery shopping late at night can be a terrifying experience, particularly at the Smith’s Marketplace on 400 South.  You might think “terrifying” is too strong a word—you might think I’m just exercising the hyperbolic style of my generation.  But terrifying is precisely what I mean.

It’s not the cop cars that are parked outside the entrance.  It’s not that the entire parking lot smells like spilled beer—the ENTIRE quarter-block of parking lot.  It’s not the homeless dudes that hit on me on my way in (homeless dudes totally dig me, as do the elderly and the weird).  It’s not the creepy way everyone who shops at night is either A) a couple, holding hands to prove it, B) a weird guy or girl hoping to be part of a couple, or C) me.  It’s not even the dude who was scratching himself in arts and crafts – and sir, could I just remind you that even though you’re not making eye contact with me, I can still see you.

The most terrifying part is that you never know what to expect – there might be the guy who yells at you, and the government, in the produce section.  The positive pregnancy test you step on in the parking lot.  (Yes, I stopped to check whether it was – or +.) 

Tonight, it was the guy who came up behind me as I pondered ice cream flavors in the frozen food aisle.  He stood too close—he caressed my hand, which was holding open the freezer door.  He sang, “Haaaaa-gen Dazs Broooooown SU-gar!” as I ran away.  

(Family dinner AND a creepy guy at Smith's?  This is totally my day.)

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