Monday, August 9, 2010

Kate grocery shopping

The first time I kidnapped Sadie Beck was an accident. In my defense, the second time was too. Initially. Having a little perspective now I can see how there might have been a better way to handle the situation, but at the time my perspective was in the toilet.

It was Halloween night and I blazed down State Street, the main drag in Salt Lake City, with little regard for the laws of traffic or decency. The air was moist and thick with fog. Neon signs on the storefronts flew by like Jackson Pollack pieces wrapped in gauze. Everything dull and blurry.

I was at the helm of The Green Beast, a ’78 Jeep Cherokee three decades past its prime. I’d bought it in Big Bear a month before for the move to Salt Lake City. It got exactly 6.8 miles to the gallon, but it was cheap and had lots of space. Space still filled with paperwork, clothes, and miscellaneous irreplaceables packed away in boxes in the back. I’d sold all my electronics and furniture before I moved because Adam said we could use his when we found our own place. Turned out we didn’t find that place. Turned out Adam was a big fat liar.

I blew through two pinkish lights and almost impaled Batman on a BMX as I hurdled the curb into the grocery store parking lot. He swerved into a lamppost on the sidewalk to avoid me. I would have gone back to help him but a furious, prepubescent voice wound a “Fuck you!” out into the universe telling me that wouldn’t be necessary. I think he was just pissed at himself for not having better skills.

I parked and carried on with my mission: shove a bottle of vodka and whatever goodies I could fit down my pants and get the hell out of Dodge. It was a perfect plan and partially why I wore the oversized hoodie sweatshirt and baggy boy jeans. They also hid the pudgy spots and I needed to feel good about something.

But where the hell was the liquor? I stood in aisle nine surrounded by bottles of pink Boone’s Farm malt liquor on one side and forties of Old Milwaukee on the other wondering who the hell stole all the good stuff in between. Had there been a mad rush for Long Island Iced Teas on Halloween?

“Where the fuck is the vodka?” I asked the shelves, expecting a response.

“At the liquor store.”

For a second I thought I was living in a universe where smartass shelves did speak, but then I looked around and saw the pimpled stick figure at the end of the aisle, stocking the corner display with chips.

“What?” I said to him.

“Grocery stores in Utah don’t sell liquor.”

“What?”

“Yeah, oh, and, uh liquor stores aren’t open on Sunday. You must nur ben fwomin hare ... “

My brain couldn’t process what he’d said so I tuned him out. What kind of a grotesquely aberrant state doesn’t sell alcohol in its grocery stores?

Panicked by my dearth of choices, I grabbed a bottle of Strawberry Boone’s off the shelf in front of me and slipped around the corner. I waited till all was clear then stuffed it down my pants and moved on with my mission.

Already derailed, I was put out even more when I realized I’d have to pay for a few things. Trying to cram four pounds of Oreos and M&M’s, a family size bag of Hershey’s Miniatures, a fourteen-inch brownie cake and two pints of “Chocolate Therapy” in with the Boone’s was a silly expectation of the capacity of my pants.

I like my ice cream soupy, so I kept the cold stuff and the two bags of M&M's down there (‘cause they melt in your mouth, not in your pants) and stocked my arms with the Oreos, Miniatures, and brownie cake.

I glanced around to make sure no one had seen what I’d done. The aisle was empty. But what were those pricklies tickling the nape of my neck? I could feel it. Someone was watching me. Suddenly I was overcome by the urge to put everything back. Moving to Salt Lake had absorbed most of my finances and I couldn’t, with good conscience, afford myself any luxuries. And I definitely couldn’t afford to be caught.


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3 comments:

  1. Where's the rest? You are a whole new kind of writer! The kind of writer that creates great movies in our minds, as we read along. I didn't want it to end

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