Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Single Schnucks

There is this store in town called Schnucks that I frequent. It's a little more costly than Aldi and a little less than Whole Foods, and more than Target, so I go there occassionally.
Each Schnucks has it's own demographic that it "caters" to. I am most used to the Jewish Schnucks in Clayton, which has kosher foods. But more recently since moving into the city, I go to Scary Schnucks, which isn't really scary at all if it's light out. The way they cater to their clientele is to sell food past it's expiration date. Boo economic prejudice.
Today, I went to the middle of the road Single Schnucks, which got it's name by being so close to Washington University's campus. Now, it's not exactly true that you find a date by walking in, I never have, expecially since I have noticed the students are looking younger and younger. But today I fell in love.
I normally fall in love easily, an empathetic, sympathetic, heart warmed humanistic love of someone's turn of phrase or the way they wear a scarf. The mosaic of people in this world astound me.
But today in line, I was getting the fixings for Rotel dip because I don't want to eat another casserole in November, and yet I have 2 Thanksgiving dinners to down. And before me was a girl getting a ton of food, and behind me was some man-ish person, no big deal. But he had a basket, which is a good sign, and no list (written by a girl), which is better, and the first thing I always check is the left hand, and it was bare. Then it happened. My soda fell on the floor. I stared at it for a second longer than I needed to and he said "I'll look the other way and you can put it back." Ethically this is wrong, so I didn't, but it was exciting. He was a man with a dangerous side and most importantly, the talking barrier had been breached.
I told him to put his basket up on the roller thing, invited more than ordered, and then noticed the contents of his basket. 6-7 jars of spices, a pie plate, condensed milk other stuff. Obviously this guy is cooking something, so I asked if he had ever cooked before (um look at the spices, there was enough for a spice rack).

Him: Oh those are on sale, and I'm making pies this year.
Me: (thinking) Oh! Pies! I like that. He is also making eye contact. Brown chicken brown cow.
Me (aloud): What kinds?
Him: 2 pumpkin and one cherry
Me: (thinking) Gross
Him: I think pumpkin is gross...
Me: Because it is!
Him: Thank you. (eye contact)
Me: (thinking) Eek! No thank you love of my life. We're only in 3rd gear of banter, but you might be able to shift up to a snarky 4th. I possibly want to finish your sentences forever.
Him: but it's expected to have pumpkin.
Me: I guess so. (so conventional)

And the conversation waned as I paid and wished him luck and walked away. And even though I had gotten over the fact that he looked like a typical Aryan Nazi youth (parted blond hair does conjure the thought), I still thought he should at least facebook friend me.

Oh pie man who got away, look me in the eye and be sarcastic again, won't you?

No comments:

Post a Comment