It was at the Blue Sage grocery store, and I was wandering around, being my usual self, with Grace and her Scorpio daughter. Across from Franklin High, according to sources. Dunno, I’m lost in El Paso.
“Kramer, ten years, maybe more, how many times have I cooked for you?”
Never. Leastways, none that I can recall. Hence, the trip to the store.
I was explaining how I get distracted by shiny objects, like the Blue Corn tortilla chips, as I launched a bag into the cart.
“Those aren’t shiny,” the Scorpio observed. Something about insouciant 16-year olds.
I was looking at the coffee selection and a store employee comes over, and starts asking questions. I explained that I was looking for a Spanish Roast.
“It’s like Italian Roast, which is like French Roast, only darker,” I explained.
“I’m going to ask the guys at (some brand of New Mexico coffee) about that, you know, and I’ll get in touch, what’s your address?”
I handed the guy my card.
“Fishing Guide? We’ve got to go fly fishing up the San Juan. What do you fish for?”
“Bass. We call those little trout for bait, you know….”
And so it goes.
I picked up some kind of fruity German after dinner coffee drink.
Grace and her kid were halfway through the checkout process, and I cut in front – okay, she gestured me in front of her in the express lane – the checker dude looks at me. I ask, “You take cash?”
“No man,” he grins, “hey, what was the price on this?”
It didn’t scan, so as the line gets longer, I’m standing there, Grace is egging me on, and I’m complaining about how the other line is moving faster, and I’m getting a complex that will require years of therapy because I’m holding everyone else up.
Price check on the coffee, and I pay. Finally. Much to the relief of the audience.
As we exited the store, I tried to explain the young Scorpio, I try to make everybody’s day a little more surreal.
“You do Kramer, oh, you do.”
Roll of the eyes.
