Hot Mess and the Sailor

Hot Mess Sailor

My oldest never goes grocery shopping with me anymore and I miss that. My youngest was at soccer practice so I took it upon myself to bribe him heavily to go. After promising him a venti-mocha-frappe-choca-something, it was a done deal.

You know, I always go into the grocery store thinking that ā€œthis time will be differentā€ and I wonā€™t drop $200. But like clock-work, my basket overflowed with Capri Suns ($1 each!), Chips Ahoy and Lunchables.

My weekly grocery cart

The last thing on my grocery list was lunch meat. If there is 1 thing I canā€™t stand is waiting in line at the deli counter for the 2 100-year-old women slicing my meat. I always wondered if they could invent self-slicing stations like they have self-checkouts. But for the dummies of the world, we all know this would result in lost digits or limbs. And normally, Iā€™m behind the lady who is having a lunch meat convention and orders every fā€™ing type of lunch meat thatā€™s been invented.

ā€œUm, yesā€¦.Iā€™ll take 2/3 pound of the ostrich meat.ā€

ā€œI would also like 1 pound of the vegan bologna but can I see the slice first? I need to ensure itā€™s the proper width.ā€

ā€œCan I please sample your Himalayan goat cheese?ā€

This oblivious type of person is always in front of me, clueless to the line stretching around the building just to pick up lunch meat.

The Sailor

Today P and I were lucky. We immediately were attended to at the deli counter. There was an older gentleman, probably in his 80ā€™s already being assisted next to us. The conversation made me laugh.

ā€œHere!ā€ A stout woman wearing a hair netĀ said. ā€œTry this kind. Itā€™s real good.ā€ She plopped a slice of turkey on wax paper in front of the gentleman.

ā€œOh, no thank you.ā€ He said as he handed it back to her.

ā€œTry it! Youā€™ll like it!ā€ She said, raising her voice a bit and laying it on the ledge.

In a calm manner, the gentleman again refused it. And to my shock, the woman did not give up.

ā€œItā€™s not salty! Try it!ā€

ā€œIā€™m only a vegetarian wanting potato saladā€¦.ā€ I said under my breath, imitating the man. P doubled over in laughter and the forceful woman shot us a look of death. P straightened up real fast, knowing I was heard.

ā€˜Great. Sheā€™s going to spit in my lunch meat,ā€™ I thought.

By now a woman to my left was snickering at the exchange. Knowing he wasnā€™t going to win the lunch meat showdown, he picked up the slice and plopped Ā¾ in his mouth. The other Ā¼ landed on the cart handle.

ā€˜Dear God, please donā€™t put that in your mouth.ā€™ I thought as I looked at the piece of turkey, laying lifeless on the handle, then up to his mouth then back down at the meat. When I realized he would indeed be eating that piece as well, I blurted out,

ā€œ3 second rule!ā€ Instantly regretting my comment. He looked at me funny and then came over.

ā€œWere you in the Navy?ā€ He asked.

Dear readers, I can confidently say in my 40 years on this Earth, I have never been mistaken for a soldier or a sailor. There is nothing in my looks or demeanor that would indicate a tour of Iraq. I was once in Civil Air Patrol in high school but my best friend and I only joined to meet boys. I then realized where the confusion came into play as I looked down at my shirt to find had worn this:

Sailor ShirtĀ Suddenly I felt embarrassed, as if I owed him an explanation.

ā€œOh no. Iā€™m not a sailor. I justā€¦.ummā€¦.I thought this shirt was funny because my language is bad sometimesā€¦..ā€ I trailed off.

ā€œOh yes,ā€ he said. ā€œSailors do have foul language sometimes. Me and my _____(sorry, I forget what he said), were the worst!ā€

After about 10 minutes of regaling us about being a sailor in the Korean War, something about a boiler room and the passing of his wife and best friend, my son and I bid him adieu.

So that was that. Yours truly is a sailor now! Eye, eye captain and shiver me timbers! Isnā€™t that what they always say? No? Ok, peace out bitches!

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