Praying in the Aisles

Whenever social mores and conventions are challenged, forwarded or destroyed, those who are more conservative among us often ask “what next”? An example follows: A couple three months ago I was strolling about a local Salvation Army Thrift Store. As I recall, my mood was changing and not for the better as I shopped. I was not sure what was going on with me until I realized the problem. I couldn’t think or shop in that very loud Christian Rock music was blaring though the loudspeakers. It wasn’t even “Jars of Clay” or some such. It was like I would imagine a Christian Rock garage band to sound like had I ever gotten close enough. The music/radio station bothered me not because it was Christian, Rock or even Christian Rock. It was simply too loud and poorly presented in my opinion. It wasn’t background music. It was played at an audible level that one might enjoy at home. I felt it was trying to convert/proselytize people. It actually became more offensive the longer I remained in the store.


As I made my purchase, I told the clerk of my concern and she did not verbally respond. She rolled her eyes as if to say “anyone who would complain about Christian music probly need some.” I was on my way again, a little miffed at the down fall of customer service. A customer expresses a concern and does not even get a verbal response? What is the world coming to?

Before yesterday I had not returned to that store. Actually, it was by accident even then. I was running an errand in the area and just popped in for a look see. As I wondered the house wares section and maneuvered past a giant rolling cart with merchandize to be shelved, I passed a sales person that I have seen many times before. She is always polite, but appears far too serious about her work for me to do anything but ignore her. Yesterday was different. As I passed the woman another customer passed me and greeted the saleswoman. “Hi, how are you” the saleswoman asked? “I’m okay” the customer responded. The saleswoman then asked “Where is your husband? Is he wondering around here somewhere?” She then looked about the store and back at the woman. “He left me” was the weepy response. The saleswoman incredulously (I always wanted to use that word in a sentence) asked again. The customer told of how her husband recently went south to handle business with their second home. He apparently returned and announced things were over and left. “He did not even say goodbye to the children. He just got his stuff and left. Thirty years down the drain,” she added. The saleswoman gave her a bear hug and both women wept loudly. I was confused and alarmed by what happened next. Nosy bastard that I am, I quickly rolled my cart to the next aisle to remain in earshot.

The saleswoman started to loudly pray with the woman right there in the house wares section. “Oh, Jesus…” They both wept and prayed for Jesus to intercede. The saleswoman prayed for the return of the woman’s husband and family unit. She prayed for strength for herself and the woman. Her prayers lasted for roughly ten minutes as I stood an aisle over at this point pretending to look at the hanging shirts. It was like what one might expect at the end of one of those tele-evangelist shows where people are prayed for to be healed physically, spiritually and or emotionally. I was a little stunned by it all. I had never seen anything like it ever. The prayer circle, as I later learned it is called ended with each woman wishing the other well. The chatted of makeovers and starting life anew. Twenty minutes or so later I passed that customer in another aisle continuing her shopping.

I wasn’t sure what to think of all this at the time. How appropriate was this? One person suggested to me that the woman was in pain and “so what if they were praying in the aisles.” It was necessary to alleviate her pain, she added. I’m still confused. I can see both sides. I do think that it was great to help the woman who was obviously in great pain. I am also a tad selfish in that I believe that maybe it should all have taken place in a back room and not been part of my day? As I left the store, I could again here the loud Christian Rock. I thought ‘maybe I need a new thrift store/church.’

Ten Things I learned and Saw While Grocery Shopping

I have not written in this format for a couple months. I have been gardening and enjoying the summer. I hope you have been doing the same! Yesterday, I made the lengthy trip (ten miles) to the grocery store and...


Things I saw and learned while grocery shopping yesterday:


1. A nearly completely toothless woman mocked a college student because he was wearing pink chino shorts. "Hey, tootie-fruity: What, don't you know if you are a boy or a girl wearing those pink shorts?" The student looked confused. I imagine he, was thinking as I was, "WTF lady? Get a mirror!" BTW, the student was actually quite stylish.

2. A man with no bottom teeth to speak of mocked me by saying "I bet you went to college." He then asked where I lived. He reeked of several days of sweat and I backed quickly away. He followed and told me of a market across town with "ethnic food." He apparently likes jowls and believed I should too.

3. "If you can get into the spandex, wear it!" seems to be the Syracuse mantra. If you listen closely you can hear butts weep.

4. "Ritz Crackers" boxes are now almost half the size at the same price. What a gip!

5. With very little effort you can put $40. of groceries in one reuseable bag. Sad, but true.

6. Always, and I mean I always arrive home without the main two items I went for. In this case, mayo and sugar. I went out again and spent nearly $8. for the two items at a store a few blocks away.

7. Polite people get the worst roasts. Apparently, old women will indeed hip-check you to get at the best meats.

8. Even if people look really mean, they are probably the ones who need a friendly "hello" the most. It can be amazing  how you can transform a mood. Do it!

9. "SALE" really means "We Want You To Believe It Is A Sale." Half the time nowadays it is not really a sale.

10. A power nap after shopping is very cleansing.

Sorry, Was I In Your Way?

Yesterday, about a quarter to one, I decided to take a long walk and then have a very late lunch after that. It was very sunny with beautiful clear skies. About a half hour into my walk I found myself in front of a sedan. As I entered the crosswalk in front of the grocery store exit, I looked at the car and then the traffic light above; both were red. I proceeded and when I was directly in front of the car, BAM, the driver decided and did attempt a right turn. The driver had to be at least late 70’s - early ‘80’s. Not, that her age mattered, but her carelessness certainly did… I tried to break my fall with my left hand and nevertheless found myself in a most undignified sprawl on the hood of the car. Fortunately, I was wearing a new J&M blazer and Tom Ford cologne, but I digress. I looked up at the driver whose expression can only be described as very pissed. I struggled to get to my feet and the driver waited. She did not get out of the car; she just waited with a scowl. I was three-quarters of the way standing again when, the woman just completed her right turn and sped away. With my arms spread wide I demanded, “So, you’re just going to drive off?” Her answer was in her exhaust.



Livid, I made my way home. By the time I got there, I was experiencing a slight pain in the lower right side of my back. I took a couple pain relievers and took to the safety of my bed for a couple three hours and was right as rain thereafter. As I lay there I could not help thinking about the woman. I almost made excuses for her. I pondered that maybe she had been told that if she hit another person she would lose her license; maybe she was preoccupied with the loss of a loved one… (the favorite of her fourteen cats, perhaps); maybe the side effects of her current meds caused her to react as a hateful cow? I could not help thinking about the look on her face. It did not match any of my excuses for her. It was a look of contempt, inconvenience; as if to say “I got things to do. Get the F*** off my hood.” I wondered if that song writer was thinking about people like that when he wrote “I hope I die before I get old.” What a miserable way to be. To go about pissed off at someone because you hit them with your 2000 pound vehicle as a result of inattention or intention is a pretty sad way to be. Finally, in my thoughts I reached the conclusion that I was just glad that I wasn’t her.



For the most part I had little or no physical injuries, but I fear my faith in humans suffered a compound fracture.

...And People In Hell Want Ice Water.

This actually happened yesterday.


The scene is a local grocery store. The following is the one-sided conversation (which I overheard) of a middle-aged guy on his cell phone.


• “Listen, take a pitcher and dump some ice cubes and water in it and put it in the fridge.”

• “A water pitcher… There must be 4 or 5 there!”

• “Look again.”

• “‘cause I want it cold when I get there.”

• “A pitcher, for Pete’s sake. You can so find one!”

• “No, take the ice cubes out of the ice cube tray.”

• “What is there to be confused about?”

• “You can’t make ice water and you are graduating next month?”


(-Inaudible sounds much like a kid makes to indicate another kid is goofy, then rams the phone into his front jeans pocket and makes sounds not unlike a respirator.)


At this point, I so wanted to turn around and say “somebody needs a hug,” but I kinda figured he’d deck me.

The Accidental Wingman

Earlier, I was out for my morning walk. About a mile away from the house, I found myself waiting to cross the street. Suddenly, out of nowhere a young man appeared on a bicycle. He was very thin and I imagine 18 or 19. He was wearing street clothing suggesting that “guy on a bike“ might be more descriptive than perhaps, “cyclist.” He smiled broadly (at my clothing it almost seemed) as if we were old friends. I looked him up and down and could not place him. My task wasn't difficult in that I do not know a huge number of people in that age group. He said "how ya doin', man?" I said "great" and tried to step to the left to clear his bike and cross the street. He extended his left arm and hand out to stop me and offered his hand. Still confused, I shook his hand. Still smiling, he asked “What you been up to? Where you on your way to?” At this point he must have unraveled my nonverbal communication and understood that I needed to know what the heck was going on here. “Man, there’s a girl back there that I want to talk to. Just stand there and pretend you know me,” he pled. I looked down the block and saw the young woman of his intentions. My first thought was that she was way, way, way out of his league. What, was she going to do, ride on his handle bars while her $300.00 pumps swung in the breeze? I looked over at the bike guy and said “I have got to go,” and hurried across the street. He called out to me, “Hey man, you just gonna leave like that?” I pretended not to hear him. To the beautiful woman walking down the street: You’re welcome!

Sit Where You Can

I walked in to the small medical office waiting room. All 13 seats were taken. The oldest person sitting looked about my own age. There was a woman of roughly late thirties-early forties sitting with her four noisy teens. Three were definitely boys and I suspect from "her" attire that the fourth just wanted to fit in. They had defied the “No Eating or Drinking” sign and clumsily dropped a chocolate muffin on to the carpet. “What are we supposed to do now, mom? We’re still hungry.” There was no answer from mom. Near the door was an elderly woman who obviously at some point had confronted the ravages of a stroke. She looked even though the effects of her malady, 70-ish. Her expression was grimaced. I sensed the expression was from bracing herself against the wall for support rather than any permanent effect of her stroke. I offered a sympathetic half smile, but she was beyond empathy/sympathy; old girl needed a friggin’ seat! I looked at each person seated silently questioning, do you see this woman? No one seemed to notice or care. As well, I am not trying to make it their responsibility, but I also wondered why the office personel had not asked someone to give up their seat for the woman? Finally a seat became available. I, of course insisted that the poor woman sit. She gratefully accepted. Most of those seated gave me a look as if I were that arsehole who works too fast on the production line making everyone else “look bad.” The topper was when one of the teens tilted his head towards me and made the international limp-wrist sign. To my shock the teens and their mother had quite the giggle at my expense. While I do believe that manners and good grace are inexcusably important, I had no idea that they were usually accompanied by a limp wrist and thus defined sexuality and as such were laughable. The very idea that one might sit while an elderly stroke victim woman leans against a wall is inhuman. Please understand that I get no accolades for doing what was absolutely correct in that situation either. WTF is wrong with people?

Wrong-Aid

Yesterday, as I walked along around two in the afternoon, I remembered that earlier that morning I had dropped off two prescriptions at a Rite Aid Pharmacy down the hill from the house. The sky was overcast and I was glad that I had my umbrella. I walked at a steady clip in that I wanted to avoid getting caught in the rain. In my right hand, I carried the umbrella and a small bag which contained a bad of Starlight Mints. I had purchased the mints a few blocks back at the Dollar Store. That small bag was twisted as to remove most of the air and fit neatly in my palm. The umbrella dangled from its strap from my pinky finger.

As I entered the Rite Aid Pharmacy store, I continued at the same pace as I had outdoors and made no stops, but went directly to the pharmacy “Pick Up” window. There was a short line in front of that station. There was also a patient at the window receiving service and one in front of me in line. The woman in front of me cooed an infant who apparently was named, “Profit.” My brain quickly pondered whether the mother was deeply religious and or a great fan of capitalism. I was distracted from Profit by what was next transpired.

The pharmacy at this particular Rite Aid location is situated in the back corner of the store. The counter forms kind of a backwards L with the “Pick-Up” counter/window covering the short part of the letter and the “Drop-Off” counter/window at the very end of the long part. As an aside, in third grade I was taught the names of these two parts of the Letter L, but like so much from that simpler time, I cannot recall. As I have stated, my thoughts concerning the motivation of naming a child Profit were interrupted. That interruption took the form of the chubby security man hopping onto the “Drop-Off” window counter to my right. My OCD brain had immediate issues with his big butt sitting on a Pharmacy counter. He stared and I stared back. I assumed that he was staring because he had not quite gotten my mental telepathic message “Get your filthy arse off that counter.” Unfortunately, that was not why he was staring. He was staring because something about me said to him that I had or was going to steal from that store. I don’t know… Maybe, I walked too swiftly when I came in to the store? Maybe, because I had a small bag in my hand when I came into the store? Maybe, it was the tie and starched shirt or the glasses or the blackness or the stupidity of the security man? Perhaps, it was some of these things or all of these things or others that I know nothing about. Never mind that I don’t steal. Never mind that I have never had so much as an overdue library book, that day I fit some moron’s profile of a store thief. I fit that profile so well that the store manager came over and went inside the pharmacy area and also casually stared at me and then she finally made an annoyed look and then left to return to her work (I assume).

Once I realized what was going on, I continued to stare in an attempt to make this fool twice as uncomfortable as he had made me. Finally, he whispered audibly enough for me to hear (to the pharmacist) “Watch this guy.” The pharmacist looked over at me with an expression which suggested he had been told a joke which he did not get. I stared back and the Pharmacist looked away. The security man then hopped down and walked quickly away.


I waited my turn and received great customer service from the Pharmacy Assistant. I thanked her and headed for the door. When I reached the mat of the front door, to the right of me I heard “he’s leaving.”


I looked up at their logo and shook my head "Rite Aid: With Us It's Personal."