Wednesday, June 22, 2005

At Mexican Safeway I wait in line with the ingredients for Lagrand's going away dinner. Beefy blonde Byron- I see him in the distance, he isn't manning a cash register. Instead it is a twenty something girl, her dark brunette hair highlighted with red streaks. Two women are ahead of me. The first is a grandmother with her grandson, they have picked a dozen donuts but don't know you actually get 14 for a dozen. Grandma sends the boy to get two more and while is he away she has to pay. She struggles with her cards, having a hard time pulling the Mastercard out, it seems to be stuck in the little pocket. The boy comes back and she says to him, "Can you pull my Mastercard out?" and he reaches over to the pile already on the little ledge and hands her the correct card. She can't read, it turns out. When the card is run the boy has to show her where to sign and instructs her to put her initials, B. and V., instead of a signature. He tells her, "Grandma, I put the card on top, that way you'll know which one it is."

The next woman has already told the cashier, "Can you get someone to grab me a half gallon of milk. The one with the red or pink label, it doesn't matter. I'm too lazy to walk back and get it." But not to lazy to buy a couple of big slabs of ribs, only a few steps away from the dairy aisle. The bagboy comes back with a half gallon but it is the blue label, the fat free label, and that isn't going to work, of course. I stand there for another ten minutes until the right kind of milk is found.

Afterward I ask the cashier how she can stand that sort of thing. "Oh I see that all of the time."

At home I make macaroni and cheese, spinach salad, corn on the cob, and a simple desert- strawberries and raspberries and that whipped cream in a can. I hope Lagrand likes it. I'm glad he is leaving to start a new leaf, I'll miss him and his laugh and the times we have spent together.

The dinner table.

Lagrand and I played Scrabble after dinner.

Newer›  ‹Older

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

comments powered by Disqus