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Spit

I went to the grocery store last night.

My schedule has been so insane of late that I failed to notice I was out of - everything. I am like Old Mother Hubbard. Well... except I am not really old, at least I don't think so, and I am not a mother yet and well, I do have liquor so the cabinets aren't totally bare. So I guess I am more like Somewhat Young & Childless Drunk Hubbard.

Anyway.

The cupboards were bare. I went to make pene in vodka tomato sauce the other night and all I had was 1/2 box of whole wheat penne and a can of pinto beans. (Well, yeah. And I had the vodka) I didn't even have black-eyed peas and Triscuits, which is a staple I share with The Conservative Catholic Friend in Virginia. This really is so completely unlike me. I am anal about my pantry being stocked. But all my time of late has been spent shopping for others and bitching about shopping for others.

Off to the store I went. And I have to say that this shopping experience was particularly nice. No Sweaty Hairy Armpits and none of those Yacking Aisle Blockers that seem to be so common these days.

I even had someone offer to help when I accidentally ran into the Sugar Pops display and knocked about 10 boxes onto the floor. My cart was pretty loaded and kind of heavy and I didn't give myself enough clearance out of the coffee aisle and I clipped the corner and sent those Pops to the floor. Although you know, honestly, even if I had given myself enough clearance, I would have knocked those Pops to the floor. I can't drive a full grocery cart worth damn. Total spaz.

So, I get through the check-out lines just fine and Cute Bagger Boy packs my groceries neatly back in the cart and I was on my way. I was just out the door when I heard, "Hey! Hey you!"

I turned to look and saw this man standing there and just before I could say something, he spit his chew on the sidewalk next to my feet. I looked down at the chew and then back up at him and said, "Uh ... excuse me??"

"Hey, are you doing the food for Friday night?"

"Well, I do have a function on Friday night, yes."

(We have a trick Friday night - 350 people)

"And it's for John and Jane Doe, right?"

"Yeah..."

At this point in the conversation he is picking the remaining flecks of chewing tobacco out of his teeth while I am standing there with a raised eyebrow and moving my feet enough as to not step in the pile of spit laden chew.

"Well, I am the salmon guy!"

"You? - you're the salmon guy?"

"Yep - in the flesh!"

The trick for Friday night, as I said, is 350 people. The menu is chicken and salmon (and a bunch of other foods) and the client asked if their "friend" could grill the salmon and then we would serve it. Which, the idea seemed great. Less work for us. And I had heard of the "friend" and he grills up an amazing fillet of salmon.

But as I was standing on that sidewalk with a chunk of chewing tobacco at my feet, it didn't seem like such a great idea.

"So - you're the salmon guy."

"Yes in deedy... "

"Well, that's great. I hear you grill up a wonderful salmon."

"Well thank you..."

"I will say, however, that if you spit that nasty stuff at my feet again - Please understand that I will have no other option but to kick your ass."

He stood there for a minute and then started laughing so hard that he nearly choked. "The Doe's told me you were feisty and funny! Ahahaha!"


He patted me on the arm as he walked past and laughed all the way to his car. He also stepped in his own pile of spit.

Can't wait until Friday.

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Posted by Foodwhore at August 4, 2004 10:08 AM