Friday, March 22, 2019

The Yogurt Fridge

Okay, so we're in front of the yogurt fridge. Scarlett's in the shopping cart with the milk and eggs and Sullivan's beside me, hanging onto the cart loosely with a couple of fingers. When I reach out to open the fridge, this middle-aged man appears out of nowhere, steps in front of me, opens the fridge himself and sticks his head inside. He wants yogurt too, apparently.

That's fine. People don't see people sometimes. I step back to wait my turn.

While we wait, Sully begins to loudly plan his impending purchase. He's been anticipating this, you know? We don't buy yogurt every time. It's a treat. "What kind should we get, Mom?" he asks. "Blueberry? Or, no, STRAWBERRY...?"

"Sure," I say. "Is that what you want?"

"YES," he says. "YES I DO." He hops up and down on the balls of his feet a couple of times; his hands are in little fists. He's so excited. "STRAWWWBERRYYY."

The man in front of us is moving so slowly, surveying the options before him like he's choosing a living thing instead of a dairy product. Like all the ones he doesn't choose will be hurt that he didn't choose them. I think I see him look at me over his shoulder once but I'm not sure; mostly he doesn't seem to be too concerned with us.

"Okay," I say to Sully, smiling. "We'll get strawberry."


I nod, even though it's not. Sully loves when things are on sale. "Yup."

I mean, it's on sale in the sense that it is being sold. It's for sale. Same thing.

"OH GOOD," he says in his just-barely-not-yelling voice.

But then something incredible happens.

The man looks over his shoulder at me again—this time I'm sure he's looking at me—and takes one of the strawberry yogurts. Sets it in his basket.

Okay, no, I know, that's not incredible.

But then he reaches back in—moving quickly all of a sudden, like he's got a whole new lease on life—and takes another.

Still not incredible? He's not done: he takes another.

And another.

And another.

And another. He keeps going. He's moving like a bank robber cleaning out a safe.

Dear reader: he has taken every last strawberry yogurt in the yogurt fridge.

And when he's done, he hefts the basket handle into the crook of his arm and staggers off, shooting me one last look. The look says, Ha.

My mouth hangs open for a second and then, because my mouth is open anyway, I laugh. Right out loud. And I don't care if the man hears me laughing at him. Whatever.

Okay. That's the whole story. People are great.