staying, part 1

if it’s true that only the dull are brilliant at breakfast, an axiom is that only the truly dull are brilliant in the grocery store before breakfast on a sunday morning. that’s why i eschew all communication, shop in a fog and just shove my debit card at the zingo’s cashiers when they cheerfully sing out my total.

but then there are the lonelyhearts, the desperate old people that emerge from their bedsits on a sunday morning and i swear just roll prop carts around the aisles for hours, striking up inane conversations with likely-looking victims. then they ditch the carts and go to church, probably, where they have more inane conversations with god.

at the entrance to zingo’s early sunday morning, i found myself trapped behind a large, pear-shaped elderly gentleman. he was wearing an obnoxiously bright DuPont Jeff Gordon jacket -- a DuPont pensioner, maybe, or a big NASCAR fan, or both. he’d just accosted a red-vested manager and was telling him what a great job zingo’s did clearing the parking lot after friday’s ice and snow and how was that possible with all those shopping carts floating around.

move it big guy, some of us got places to go - i thought, because i couldn’t maneuver my cart around his ample hips. when he did move along, he did so ponderously, rocking from side to side like a boat anchored in the bay.

i was searching for fennel when he rolled into the produce area. “jenny was a friend of mine” was playing, and a couple stockboys were nodding their heads in time and chatting.

- you like this music? – Pear Man asked them. they once-overed him, then nodded. – it’s interesting. who is the group? what are they called?

- the killers – one replied. Pear Man was taken aback.

- the killers. imagine that. i do like the bass line, though. i used to play bass. do either of you play instruments? - he moved aside as i excused myself past him, shrinking under his slightly wall-eyed gaze, hoping he wouldn’t say he was getting the band back together and was i in. i fled to the juice aisle, and from then on, whenever i peered down an aisle and spotted his rocking hulk, i’d skip that aisle. i did notice that he’d acquired a cart with a bag of potatoes, ground beef and burger buns.

the next victim i saw was a kid stocking frozen pizzas. he was wearing a bright orange Clemson football jacket, and Pear Man went straight for him like a slavering dog to a meaty bone. serves you right, i thought; you don’t see me wearing a Planned Parenthood tee.

Pear Man launched his sally.

- i like your jacket. – Stockboy smiled at him. a genuine smile.
- thanks. so do i. are you a Clemson fan?
- i went to school there. i didn’t play football, but i went to every game i could. that was back in the days of Gary Barnes. have you heard of him?
- heard of him?? his jerseys are still up in McFadden. he’s a legend, man. you were lucky to see him play.
- he was my roommate freshman year. his mother made wonderful oatmeal cookies.
- no shit. that’s awesome.

Stockboy moved away. making an escape, i thought, but no, just moving to the frozen vegetables.

- was he a cool guy? Barnes? – he asked over his shoulder. Pear Man paused before answering.
- yes, yes he was. he could be very quiet, but when he spoke you knew he had carefully considered whatever he was saying. he’s a judge now, you know.

a well-coiffed, attractive woman approached Pear Man and placed a hand on his shoulder. she indicated the frozen spinach soufflé she was holding.

- do you think Sam and Jody would like this, or just peas & carrots?
- oh that, definitely. Sam’s always the one for spinach.
- good - she said, dropping the box into the cart. - are we done here?
- i think we’re done. – Pear Man agreed.

the block of butter i’d been pretending to study was getting soft around the edges. i stole a glimpse as Pear Man and his wife passed by, and he offered me a serene, if somewhat quizzical, half-smile.