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Observations of An Ex-Cop in La La Land |
 ANDY MURCIA |
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(is a grocery store!) |
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Pitty-pat goes Andy's heart
as he wheels his grocery cart
of TheColumnists.com
I know there are many guys still carrying a crush for the old girlfriend--or worse yet, guys who have a crush on their wife’s best gal-pal. Not me, though, because I save all my passion for my secret love--the Grocery Store!
I get to visit her--the grocery store, that is--almost daily because I love to cook the meals in our home. The perfect Grocery Store is like a good looking woman to me, i.e., it has a nice appearance, smells good and is "well-stacked.” Just add “easy going and friendly” to the mix and I’m in love.
Loving a clean, well-stacked grocery store runs in my family. My dear father, Andrew, and my big sister, “Cookie,” were both addicted to grocery stores way before me. Even though sister Cookie’s feet give her painful problems, she can still hang her elbows on a cart handle like a parrot on its perch, and walk for hours in a good store. A great grocery store is a pleasant place to visit.
Give me the need to kill
a couple of hours and you’ll find me expertly rolling my
cart up and down those aisles, baby, reading labels, or just
helping some 30-something lady without any real experience in
melons select a nice cantaloupe or two.
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'Lemme thump those melons for you and I'll tell you if they're any good!'" |
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The produce department
is alive and fresh--and it also can be funny. I’ve seen
some women knock on a cantaloupe, then stare at it as if they
expect a midget will pop out and holler “RIPE!” I’ve
even seen senior shoppers tap on the same cantaloupe and quickly
place the fruit by their ear as if a Morse code signal would
tap back saying; “PUT ME BACK; I’M NOT RIPE!”
I can always make a friend in Produce by showing a “rookie”
that picking a sweet cantaloupe is all a matter of touch and
color. You have to put your fingers around the fruit gently,
then caress it to see if it has a little give to it and isn't
too firm. If it has a little give and a nice golden color peeking
through the green--plus a lovely aroma and no big soft spots--well,
you've got yourself a winner, kid-o.
The only thing I don’t like about the Produce department is when the clerks overpile the tomatoes and as you pick one, the rest fall on the floor quicker than a boxer with a glass jaw. I always pick mine up, but don’t you hate those people who pretend they didn’t see it fall? Or worse, they kick the tomato near YOUR cart!
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Ah'm sorry. Please put that gun away!" |
You single guys should know that grocery stores are a GREAT place to meet women. A woman loves a man who knows his way around a store and, better yet, has a way with a stove. But that’s another story.
I'm always having adventures in my grocery stores. Like the time a few years back when I was on the prowl in the elegant Gelson’s supermarket in Encino, California. As I rounded a corner by the fresh sushi counter, my cart hit another one that was stopped. I was all set to plead guilty to the offense when I looked up from the shopping list I'd been reading and saw--Frankie Avalon!
Recognizing him immediately, I said, “Excuse me, Frankie” and being the gent he is, he said, “That’s okay.”
I put my hand out and he shook it, so I held on to his paw and said, “Man, Sylvia would never believe this!”
“Oh, is Sylvia your
wife?” he asked.
“No," I said. "She was my first girlfriend. We
danced a million times to your 'Venus!"
Just to be sure he got the point, I began to sing it to him:
“Oh, Venus, if you will;
Please send a little girl for me to thrill!”
Frankie held his hand up to halt my singing as he nervously chuckled. I told him how Sylvia dumped me for a guy with tickets to his concert. Frankie said he was sorry.
“Don’t be,"
I told him. "I married actress Ann Jillian and Sylvia today
is the hostess at Red Lobster!"
“So, I’m the best thing that ever happened to you!”
said Frankie.
“You sure are, man!” I assured him.
I knew he was trying to roll onward now, so I said; “I’ll tell Sylvia I bumped into you.”
Frank’s last words
were: “You won’t be lying!”
What a nice guy that Frankie Avalon is, but how come he still
looks like a teenager and I look like his grandfather? Maybe
it’s something in that pain medicine he pitches on TV? As
I rolled on to the meat section humming the rest of “Venus,”
I got to thinking what a decent family man Frankie Avalon turned
out to be. Here he was doing his own grocery shopping. How do
you like that? My kind of guy, that Frankie is.
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movie guy named Frankie something wanted to know if I could warn him next time you come in the store." |
I also love the meat counter--just
looking at all the fine cuts of steak, the roasts and the chops
I hardly ever buy anymore. Man, I remember when I could eat red
meat seven days a week! Not now. When I make a roast or enjoy
a fine steak, it has to be a special occasion. I’m mostly
a chicken or turkey man these days.
But there's a down side to visiting the meat counter: That one
cranky butcher. He insists on standing behind me with a heavy
tray of meat in his hands, even though I'm not through daydreaming
out steaks and chops yet. When I do move to one side, this butcher
bangs the tray down real hard, showing his contempt for me being
in his way. One day I had enough of this rude fellow, so I said:
“Listen, Mister Butcher, if guys like me don’t buy
this meat, you might be out of a gig, yes?”
He dummied up, of course, but not before asking what my problem was. I told him it was his banging the tray down so hard and rushing me. That was my problem. He said he was sorry, so my feelings for my Grocery Store were saved, I’m still passionate about this store. I’m healed now. Even real lovers have spats, right?
I also love going to the dairy section on a hot day. It’s always nice and cool there. Now I know there’s a lot of things here I’m not suppose to eat because they're high cholesterol foods. Nevertheless, I buy my non-fat milk, yogurt, margarine, and egg white containers. I still buy a dozen real eggs, too. I go for the expensive kind where the chicken can walk free for herself before delivering the egg. Come Sunday morning, you know I’m making my two over easy with my Boca sausage patties, (65% less fat, made from soy, good for the prostate, my Chinese pals tell me) and a nice fresh bagel or two.
But lets go back to the freezer section for a minute. You know they now turn the dated tops of the milk & orange juice cartons away from us customers so we will take them in order of date. They don’t want us reaching behind for the “more recent” dated containers. Well, I’ll cop a plea right here and now: I still grab the last carton.
One day I had my arm all the way into the thigh-high, dark freezer shelf, when something fell on my arm and rattled the entire freezer. It scared the hell out of me, soI yanked my arm out fast! I thought they had set a trap for me in there or we just had an earthquake! I bent over and looked in.
Hovering above the milk cartons was the culprit: The Dairy Man! Thinking he was protected from my seeing him, he was having some fun for himself as he dropped several cartons on my arm, on purpose! But when I heard him laughing, I pushed the entire shelf of milk back towards him and what a crashing noise that made!
"Feet don’t fail me now," I told myself as I took outta there fast. I was several aisles away by the time he could run out front. I was at the pasta section already, enjoying the sight of him, standing there dripping with milk! I had no idea I could still run that fast, while pushing a cart yet! See you can even get your exercise in a grocery store.
Speaking of pasta, this
is my staple meal. I make pastas often with so many variations
of sauces that we never get tired of it in our house. Pasta,
a good hunk of bread, a nice salad, with the right music and
a little vino and I ask you, can paradise be any better? One
day I hope to write a column entirely on my pasta recipes.
I have to fly through the Bakery department because this is where
love can take a good man down. It did it to my Father, who loved
good bread and a little sweetie, too. My sister and I could eat
ALL THEY GOT! The aroma of bread baking, fresh cakes and sweeties
are my felonious sins in life these days. I can make a meal out
of good bread, and my belly shows it.
Getting bread sliced at
My Grocery Store is a love-hate thing for me. If the right girl
is working, it’s pure pleasure to watch her handle the loaf
I pick out. You can tell what kind of lover she is by how she
handles it. If “Miss Right” is behind the counter,
she will be kind and gentle to it. To see her place my loaf on
her slicer AND make sure my loaf ends get in my bag and off her
slicer is a total aphrodisiac for me. I love eating those ends
after I dig them out of my toaster all crispy. When this lady
handles my loaf like that, I make a firm commitment to her: “I
will bring you my loaf forever and always!” Just like the
song says.
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Then I whip out my VIP GREY CARD. This gives me 10 percent off my total bill because I’m over sixty! Then I start undoing my roll of "scrip" bills that we buy from my son's Catholic school, which gives the school a 5 percent kickback to help defray school expenses. When the cashier asks me if I want a paper or plastic bag, I ask for both. (I use them as garbage bags at home.) While all this is going on, the kid with the droopy pants watches with a look of disgust.
“You people eat good on food stamps!” he says.
I ignore him. It’s obvious he’s in pain from something. Besides, I don’t want to start any conversation with a guy who walks on the cuffs of his own pants and wears his cap backwards.
That done, it’s time to say goodbye to my beloved Grocery Store. The Bag Girl asks if I need help out to my car. She has a nice appearance, smells good, seems pretty well-stacked--and she’s certainly easy going and friendly, just like the store that employs her, but I say, “No, Sweetheart, I think I can make it on my own.”
© 2002 by Andy Murcia.
The illustrations are from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895
Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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