June 22, 2006
"Dollar seventy-four!?" The Wife and I turn around to this woman, mid fifties maybe. "Is that a dollar seventy-four each, or just per pound?"
"Mmm, per pound," says The Wife.
"Well, one day they'll be a dollar seventy four each," asserts the weird lady.
The Wife and I exchange a momentary glance, "Yeah, I try not to think about that day," says The Wife.
"Well, you should be. Because the Lord is coming."
I'm staring at my wife, wondering what the price of roma tomatoes has to do with the second coming of Christ, the End of Days, and how exactly I'm supposed to be preparing for that. The Wife's staring back at me, and the batshit crazy woman is staring at the both of us; I'm assuming she wants a response. I have no earthly idea how to follow that kind of lunacy so I lean in close to her, squint my eyes and whisper "Not if I can help it," and stalk off into the frozen section.
I mean really, what the hell was I supposed to say? What would you have said? I thought I was on some fucking hidden camera show, for fuck's sake. They're letting anyone into the grocery store these days.
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