Booty Call, Cereal Aisle!
(5 votes, average: 4.60 out of 5)
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I am on a mission! I am on a mission to a healthier nutrition style! For now… and it’s begun to crumble.. but that’s a minute detail. As I invaded the supermarket, late at night, in the search for healthy alternatives to my carb-based breakfasts, I stopped at the cereal aisle, attracted more by the colorful boxes than by my actual purpose. I stood bewildered facing the various kinds of light cereal, sugar coated (yummm!), the muesli, oat and wheat-based. I hold more boxes than my hands can carry and compare Lebanese and American products without a single clue on what I should get when I suddenly start to overhear a conversation in the background.
Two men were talking at the isle behind me. A customer and a supermarket employee who seemed to be very friendly. I was drawn by a normally casual conversation, until it started to sound somehow quirky.
- Customer: Here is my card. What’s your phone number?
- Supermarket Employee: **-******
I automatically repeat the phone number in my head as I pretend to be looking at the cereals! Why the hell am I memorizing his number???
- Supermarket Employee: Do you live alone, sir?
- Customer: Right now I’m staying in a hotel, but I’m moving into an apartment by myself soon.
When do you get off work?
- Supermarket Employee: At one (am).
- Customer: Ok, I’ll give you a call then.
My eyes pop out and I almost turn around to stare as I’m eavesdropping! Has it become so easy to pick up people? At a supermarket aisle? And I still court ladies and attempt to write poetry? The men separate. I’m still standing holding the boxes for what seems like an eternity. I follow the customer. He starts to look at some electronic devices. So here was a man in his 50s, who’s moving into a new apartment. Is he new in town? Recently divorced? Is he a Mossad agent?
As I’m walking around thinking and looking for soy milk, I find the employee, who’s slightly more effeminate than I am, and decide to test his “friendliness”. I ask him where can I find the milk and he kindly guides me to where it is. Yet he doesn’t ask if I live alone. Nor does he seem remotely interested in taking my phone number.
I don’t buy the milk.
I realize “courting” ways vary between men and women regardless of which color of the rainbow they identify with. Still, I can’t help but feel that conversation was absolutely depth-less. You would expect the guys to have more of a fiery discourse when they pick up someone in a supermarket, such as asking for a private demonstration of exactly how hot and tingly a brand of lube can get! But then again, what do I know? I went home with a box of muesli and oatbix.
Phoenix is a self-centered and sarcastic soul incarnated, perhaps by accident, in the bodi of a woman. As a writer with a temper, she replaces her "y's with an annoying “i” for aesthetical purposes and lives to crack a joke, at the expense of others. Her paranoid nature makes her sensitive to plants, animals and people. Ironicalli, after making fun of the Meem lesbians for years, she found a warm home there and is now renowned as its veri own emotional pest. She enjoys reading the paper with a hot cup of black tea while nude, more often than not.
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