Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
You can also find Monica's writing here:
« Mysterious Suits Me, For Now | Main | Loves Of My Life »

Grocery Get Down

Today I went shopping for a few items Serge has chicken-scratched on his perpetual shopping list. Out of the two of us, you'd think it would be me who is more organized by virtue of our respective jobs and how we've lived our lives thus far. However, although he wouldn't know a toilet brush or a car insurance policy if they up and slapped him in the face, he is all about making dinner and food lists. He is THE cook in this household.

So I figured I'd do him a favor and pick up the items on his list, two of which were Corn Flakes and Granola cereal. I entered the cereal aisle at my local grocery store this morning and began my search for this very obscure Granola cereal he favors when I noticed him.

He was wearing shorts, a striped shirt and flip-flips, a popular Utah fashion Serge abhors. Every time he sees a man in flip-flops Serge shivers with the horror of it all and begins speaking in his Skier Guy Accent. "Like, hey Monica, duuuude... you wanna hit the slopes later and, like, ski the totally sick powder?" I suspect he does this as much to mock my ex-boyfriend as he does to demonstrate his hatred of flip-flops on men. This never fails to crack me up because although I spent the majority of my twenties with these particular people and had, like, a totally excellent time digging the greatest snow on earth his accent is pretty accurate.

So Utah boy in the cereal aisle, he has his iPod buds in his ears as he's scanning the cereals. I know he knows I'm there also. Suddenly he breaks into some sort of dance, ostensibly to the music only he can hear. Now, I'm used to the douche bags that walk around talking to that tiny phone attached to their ear, the people that look like pchizophrenics in conversation with themselves until I notice the phone, but I've never dealt with a dude, alone, in a grocery store busting moves, serious moves, to his iPod with grocery basket in hand.

It ignited an entire dialogue within my head. Is Dude entirely in his own world, just doin' his shopping thang? Or is he trying to impress me with his excellent bodily interpretations to the music only he can hear? I decided it was the latter. And for some reason it annoyed me. Greatly. The more I ignored him, the bigger the moves he busted whilst standing in front of the Trix Rabbit. Perhaps I should have been impressed he was trying to make an impression on me, the girl with facial acne that won't quit and hair that hasn't been washed since the Pennyslvania Primary. I mean, I was wearing my favorite skinny jeans. But he annoyed me. The more he danced the more I hated him and was determined not to give him the satisfaction of my attention.

I wheeled my grocery cart past Dude, staring lasers into my grocery list. Resolutely not giving him the attention he was so desperately seeking. As I whipped around the corner I felt so proud. In my head I was all, fuck you dude, I didn't care about your dumb dancing and I sure showed you! Go grocery dance where somebody gives a shit!

Later I saw him loading his groceries into the trunk of his car, still doing that dance, iPod buds firmly in ears. And I was sad. Disappointed it wasn't me he was trying to impress after all. I mean, I was in my best skinny jeans and all.