Grocery Store Zen: A lesson from Count Chocula & Ghiberti
Today I went to the stop and shop and was horrified. I had a craving for Count Chocula and they did not have it. How could this be? This was, after all, the SUPER stop and shop. Its bigger than 3 airplane hangers. They had all the cereals except mine. And a bunch of stuff NO ONE eats. Who the hell eats Muesilix?
I asked the young teenage clerk “Hey do you have Count Chocula?”
“Uhhh (scoffing and laughing) No. Dude they haven’t had that in years. You bought it here before?”
“Uhhh Yeah.” I was annoyed the way he called me dude.
“”Well it musta been like a while ago. Cuz I never seen it.”
“Really…How long you been workin here for”
“Uhm like …Probably like uhm since May.”
“Wow! And in ALLLL that time you never seen it.”
“Nope” (oblivious to my sarcasm)
“Have you ever seen it anywhere.”
“Uhm my parents like told me about it. Like how the goverment said it was bad or something”
Now I was totally pissed. I was the old guy. Christ, I might as well have asked if he had that old time sasparilla. Besides, I knew the cereal was bad and sugary and actually I would never dream of allowing my daughter to have it. But I wanted it because it felt good to know in someway that I was physically able to buy it. And I suppose, psychologically, it felt good to know that a little bit of my childhood was still there.
“OK thanks anyway.” I’m walking away and he yells after me.
“You could try like Cocoa Pufffs..”
I spin around. “DUDE…I don’t want cocoa puffs maaan!”
So now, as I’m pushing my cart, the scenario is playing through my head and I’m laughing to myself at my stupid Lewbowski-like response. I realize I’m smiling and I’m walking alone. I consider censoring myself and then I think “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with smiling while walking alone in the grocery store. Is there? I mean if some douchebag next to me can walk around with his bluetooth headset talking to his secretary while fingering casaba melons, than I’m not that bad. So I relax and I’m thinking back on all the good times I had with Count Chocula. And not only him, but all the monster cereals. Frankenberry. And of course the lovable and effeminate Boobery. It was all gone. Gone!
Or maybe it was at the downtown PriceChopper. That place is very, shall we say, Urban. They probably have the original cereal in the original box. Along with Ivory soap in paper wrappers and Tylenol with no seal and child protection whatsoever.
I continued on in my super stop and shop and it got worse. I was innocently glancing at the meats section and there it was. Right between the steaks and the hamburger. Tongue. A big huge tongue. The tongue of a cow. Right there in see through cellophane packaging for all to see. A big slimy 18 inch long white tongue.
WHAT THE CHRIST IS THAT?
AND WHY?
WHY?
Seriously…w h y ?
I almost puked. I fantasized of leaving my whole cart full of stuff right there and running home to wimper in a corner. “Make the tongue go awaaaaay.” I was not only queasy and disgusted, I was angry! Angry at the injustice of it all. Wait a minute!
No Count Chocula…But TONGUE!
I don’t know if I want to live in a world like this.
I got my act together and went up to the cashier. I wanted to get the hell out of there and go home. Home. Away from the tongue. My sale was done and bagged and just for the hell of it I ask the cashier, name tag reading Chrissy, if the bags are still free. She says yes. We joke about the inconvenience of the environmental steps we take but both agree that its a good idea. She mentions that instead of reducing bags everyone should shut their lights off for 1 hour a day. I replied “Brilliant. Ya know in some places they do that anyway. When I was in Costa Rica I noticed that whole towns shut their lights off for the turtle population that is mating at night.” Crap! I quickly decide I must tell her something else about Costa Rica to distract her away from the phrase “Mating at night.”
Got it.” Oh and I saw a sloth too. Its a great place. Beaches. Rainforest.” Whew.
She says she would love to travel but just can’t afford it since she just got out of grad-school. I ask her what she’s studying. She said “Art Restoration”. I said “Now that is fascinating. Man. you must look at art so differently because of that. Some look at things conceptually. Others for technique…And…”
“Exactly”. she says, “My sister always makes fun of me when we go to a museum. I’m not very emotional toward it. Although I went and saw Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise…ten panels of gold and bronze depicting religious scenes and it was stunning. These were outdoor pieces from the 15th century…And they were so detailed. And I’m not religious at all…But I wept when I saw them ”
“I can totally imagine”, I said. ‘Seeing passion like that regardless of the subject is so beautiful.”
“Yeah”, she says, “So..Anyway…I’m trying to get into a doctoral art program in Delaware. There’s only like 700 people in the school. They only take 200 applications. 75 are called to interview. And 10 are chosen.”
“You should do it. The world needs you. Art needs people with a sense of beauty…And ethics. I mean their must be a lot to consider. I would imagine ethical dilemmas. How do you decide what gets cleaned or restored or left alone.”
“Exactly. Like over in downtown. In the museum. Ya know past the PriceChopper.”
“Yes…I think of it often. I plan to go there tonight. No tongue. Good cereal”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been workin all day and I’m a little slow.”
“NO. Trust me. It’s me…Just a stupid thing that I uhh…So downtown the musem…”
“Yeah. There’s this big pyramid. You’ve seen it!”
I had no frickin clue what she was talking about but I didn’t want to stop talking to her.
I wasn’t so much attracted to her or anything. I just didn’t want her to stop talking.
“Yeah of course…Its awesome. Its a landmark.” I lied.
“Riiieeght. So its made of a strange mix of metals and copper and materials that rust. It’s supposed to rust. To clean it up would betray the artist.”
“Exactly.” I really didn’t want to leave. But there were people coming. “Chrissy”, I said offering my hand, “A real pleasure. Best wishes. You should go to Delaware.”
“Thanks. Have a great night.”
And that was it. I ended the night on such a high note. I overcame the count Chocula tragedy by just talking to someone.
So the point is this: If you try and live in the past, looking for Count Chocula and cheap thrills and such, you will inevitably be disappointed. And if you go looking around long enough you are sure to see some awful things. Like an accident. Or a bad relationship. Or lose a loved one. Or maybe come face to face with an 18 inch cow tongue. But if you just find the strength to look away from the past and away from the little everyday things that bum you out…You will see something. People. Beautiful people working just like you. People filled with passion. People with stories. Works of art all of us. Some need some cleaning up and some are a little messy but you wouldn’t want them any other way. So thank you Chrissy. Thank you tongue-less cow. And good night Count Chocula wherever you are.
