Here’s a post that friends of the website may recall. I hope my friends will find some humor in it. If you care to, you’re more than welcome to share it.
Much love and many thanks.
***
First of all, how many other writers do you know who have more than one shoplifting grapes story? I’ll bet there are a lot of writers out there who are glad that shoplifting grapes stories aren’t some kind of benchmark, because they don’t even have one.
“So you’re a writer, eh?”
“Yes.”
“What do you write?”
“A little bit of everything.”
“A little bit of everything, eh? Lemme hear your shoplifting grapes story.”
“My what?”
“Your shoplifting grapes story; don’t tell me you don’t have one.”
“Um, er, I’m…uh…I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“Don’t have a shoplifting grapes story, eh? Well, you better get one; nobody works in this town without one. Keenan over there’s got two.”
Indeed, I do.
I was not always the savvy grape buyer that I am these days. I know, I know, that’s hard to believe, but it’s true nonetheless. One of the days back when I was not so adroit at those purchases, I happened to be watching Simon, as well as Cassondra’s daughter India, and took them grocery shopping.
So, I was buying grapes, and I got them, and they’re all open, and I just assume for some reason that the price is the price and not the price per pound.
So, here Simon and India are, they’re both about two; I’ve got them both riding in the basket of the cart, and there those grapes are, top unzipped even. They want some of course; they’re two, they want everything. Most of the stuff they want, however, is in boxes and bags, apparatuses that they would require help with if they were going to get to the desired stuff inside.
Not so with these grapes, however; they’re just right there, only a plucking and a plopping away from sweet sensation. So, they ask me if they can have some, and I’m like sure. I was buying the grapes for them, anyway, and if letting them have some will help me get through the grocery store easier and quicker, have at em.
Now, in most grocery stores, the produce section is either toward the end of the trip or at the beginning, depending on which way you travel through the store. (I never get the people who begin backwards, and if you don’t know which way is backwards, it’s probably the way you’re heading, dw.) This happened to be one of those with the produce toward the beginning of the store, so them little criminals had about all day to sit there and munch.
I don’t recall any looks on their faces other than the joy of eating grapes, but at some point you just have to imagine that they were like, “You think this dude’s gonna just push this cart around all day and let us eat grapes?” You have to think that would have written across them at some point.
Those kids ate so many grapes that somebody’s great aunt would be saying stuff like, “You want to watch, too many will give you a tummy ache.”
And then we checked out, paying for a good amount fewer grapes than were in the bag when we got it off the shelf–“What’re you gonna do? They don’t even zipper the thing.”–and the three of us, me and them two little grapelifters strolled right on out that door not having any idea that we’d done anything wrong at all, criminals and an accessory.
It wasn’t until I got home and looked over the receipt that I discovered that you buy grapes by weight. Oh well, what are you gonna do? Next time I’ll know.
Be well, beautiful people; you’re in my prayers.
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