Grocery Shopping with Sam and Rose

 

Today we did errands.  The vet, Joe Banks to pick up our suits for the upcoming wedding we are attending, Grocery store one, Grocery store two, and grocery store three. 

Why three? Because you cannot get everything at one store.  Impossible around here.  Not in Ohio, but here in Baltimore, grocery shopping is a multi-store hassle.   I mean in Columbus, it was Giant Eagle or Kroger. For specialty items, we would go to Weiland's, or Carfagna's. 

Here it depends on what we need.  

Some weeks it's Safeway, others Wegman's, and still others, Weis. 

But they are always followed up by runs to Eddie's or Grauls or both.  Eddie's and Graul's each have their charms.  One is good for baked goods, the other for their butcher counter. Both are local "markets" and since we hate Giant (not the same as Giant Eagle, which we love), they are our go-to markets for a quick in and out.

BUT TODAY, my chickens we were shopping at one of these boutique markets when we heard what I thought was someone in pain, and the Husband thought was someone taunting an angry nesting blue jay.  

"SAM? SAM? SAAAAAMMMMMMM! WHERE IN THE HELL ARE YOU?"

And we were never quite on the right aisle to see who (or what) was making that horrible hog-calling noise. 

Sam was on the opposite side of the store bellowing "ROSE! ROSE! ROSE! Damnit ROSE, where in the hell are you?"

It was a demented version of Marco Polo, without the pool. 

And as one went through an arch into the other side of the store, the other would head to the frozen food area, and the whole thing would start anew.

"SAAAAAAAAAMMMM! Where in FUCK ARE YOU?"

"ROSE! ROSE! ROSE! WHERE ARE YOU HIDING?"

Eventually, we checked out, and then we saw a man who was evidently Sam tottering outside toward the parking lot.  

Then the Bickersons moved out into the parking lot.  Where it got louder.

"ROSE! ROSE! ROSE! ROSE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!"

And out from the store comes this gnome of a woman, wearing what looked like a housecoat, I think, with wrinkly skin, a rats nest of unkempt hair and she is screaming in her raspy six-pack-a-day voice.  SAM? SAM? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU SAM?"

"ROSE! ROSE! ROSE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! LOOK OVER HERE, DAMNIT!"

"SAM? I AM NOT A DAMN DOG.  I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHERE YOU ARE.  YOU CAN GO STRAIGHT TO HELL FOR LEAVING IN THERE BY MYSELF..."

"LIVING WITH YOU IS HELL!"

And at that moment, she looked at the two of us stunned by this Kabuki Theater of the absurd, and shot me a look that probably cast an evil eye on us.  Those eyes were black as frying pans and mean.  This was a woman that no one crossed. 

Then she really laid into Sam.

"COULD YOU BE ANY MORE USELESS, DAMN IT! THE GROCERY BAGS ARE INSIDE, GO GET THEM...WHERE IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING LEAVING THE DAMN CAR LOCKED ON ME."

"CAN YOU PLEASE SHUT YER PIE HOLE?"

"YOU CAN GO STRAIGHT TO HELL SAM!  WILL SOMEONE RUN THAT FUCKER OVER AND END MY MISERABLE MARRIAGE?"

We got into the car. 

My normally stoic handsome husband would just sit there, and I said in a soft voice, "You can go to Hell Sam," and my husband cracked up. 

I mean the two of them had to be in their eighties, and they were carrying on and on.  I'm amazed one of them didn't need oxygen.

"Can you imagine living next door to that?"

"I'd rather live under the flight path to BWI," said I. 

I carefully drove out of the parking lot, avoiding the possibility of coming near them, and on the drive home, along Bellona, up the big hill towards Charles Street, I held my husband's hand and thanked God that our first, and hopefully last encounter with Rose and Sam had come and gone.  

Still, tonight, before dinner, I am taking a pinch of salt and throwing it over my left shoulder just in case that rump-fed runyon put the evil eye on me.