Monday, June 11, 2012

Mama Don't Like to Freeze in the Piggly Wiggly


Ok, my husband is Mexican, so don't think I'm being racial here.  It's just for fun!



Mama Don’t Like to Freeze in the Piggly Wiggly
As the brutal Memphis summer heats up, we southern girls start glistening as soon as we step outside. Last week I was gettin’ all gussied-up, with big hair despite 99% humidity, and I forgot I was out of my real expensive perfume.  So I drove to the store to buy some, and before I could park and walk into Walmart, I looked like I’d been hit in the face by a Super Soaker.
You’d think that a visit to the grocery store would bring relief from the kind of sweltering stickiness that makes the lotion on my legs run down to my flip flops.  However, every time I approach Piggly Wiggly’s sliding doors, an Arctic blast rushes through my damp clothes, gripping every muscle in my body and twisting me into a tight-jawed, grumpy-butt Sue Sylvester (Glee) with frozen underwear.  
Yesterday at the grocery, I tackled the frozen food aisle first. I rummaged around the freezer, deciding which vegetable I could fool my kids into eating. Consequently, my fingers turned dangerously white and I had to step back, holding the glass door open at arms length. Then I couldn’t read the stupid packages.  That’s why it’s always so cold in there—all the semi-blind, middle-aged ladies stand four feet away from the freezer holding the doors wide open.  I gave in to the cold and shut the door, but then the glass fogged up and I couldn’t see inside. 
If I didn’t come home with some interesting food, the kids would probaby revolt by grabbing their recorders (the sadistic musical instruments) that they’ve hidden since elementary school for just this occasion and screeching “Hot Cross Buns” 24/7 until there are some REAL Oreos in the pantry, and not those low-fat ones, dammit!  They’re teenagers now so they think they can say “dammit.”  
So I stuck my hand in and quickly grabbed some chimichangas with that tasty meat filler like Taco Bell uses.  Except the kind with no beans.  Beans make me windy.  Not that I eat that crap, since you ask. 
Turning down the cereal aisle, I could still see my breath and decided I’d had enough. I demanded to see the store manager.  A large Mexican man lumbered up.  I knew he was the manager because he had “Señor Chapa” on his name tag.  I know that means he’s the boss because I’m pretty good at Mexican.  I introduced myself, and his face dropped like maybe that old cake-nazi witch from the bakery department had told him about me.  Not that I’ve ever pissed anyone off in the bakery department. 
“I am freezing my butt off in your store,” I grimaced. “Will you please turn the freaking air conditioning off?”  I told him in a real polite way because I’ve been known to sorta unleash before.  He’s lucky I didn’t rip him a new one like I did to the waitress at Longhorn when she said they were out of Chocolate Molten Lava cake and I had a coupon. 
“Ma’m, I can’t turn the air conditioner off because one person is cold,” said Chapa.
“Look around, Nacho.  Do you see anyone over there at the magazine rack leisurely admiring Ryan Reynolds’ abs in People?  No.  That’s a sign.”
“I don’t think that means customers are cold,” he said.  Maybe they don’t like Ryan Reynolds’ abs.”
“Chewy, you’re just talking nonsense now.  I think the cold has frozen some of your brain neutrons.  Maybe you shouldn’t be managing a grocery store.  Obviously you don’t know Prime Beef when you see it.  But can we get back to my frigidity?”
“Well, if other people were complaining, I’d turn the air down,” he said callously.
“You know what, Pancho?  You’re right.  I’m the one that’s loco.  But it would be a shame if the fingers of one of those little old ladies on the scooters were so cold she couldn’t grip the brake and smashed into one of those waist-high freezers and flipped in head-first and broke a hip, now wouldn’t it?”
  Since then Chubba and I are pals.  He figures I kept him from a lawsuit by the blue-hairs.  I come in every Wednesday and he fires up the toaster oven and makes me hot, free samples.  I think Gordito could, legit, be my soulmate.  He bends over backwards for me, and he knows Mama likes her some chimichangas.  No beans.

12 comments:

  1. I love the Piggy-Wiggly! As a southern transplant, I can totally relate.

    "Maybe they don’t like Ryan Reynolds’ abs." ROFL!

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  2. lol - this is so funny! I HATE freezing in the grocery story. The other day at Kroger I was so cold I was literally running through the aisles. I just can't understand the stares... :)

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  3. This definitely made me laugh! :)

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  4. This is HILARIOUS sister! I live in AZ so I can feel your pain except it is so stinking dry here that all sweat evaporates in like 2.2 seconds and you are really shivering. What drives me bonkers at the grocery? The static electricity! xoxo

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    1. Woo! Too humid here to have static electricity except for in the winter! Hard to maintain my big hair when I go outside and feel like I'm being suspended over a pot of boiling water. =)

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  5. lol, how about dashing into the veggie room at Costco? OK, this is California, so we are spoiled. Very funny blog!

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    1. Love that all the commenters are from all over the country!

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  6. I just don't know what to say about this. LOL. I hate the heat. Dry or humidity... I don't know which one is worse because as far as I'm concerned whether it's dry or humid I am completely uncomfortable either way.

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  7. North Carolina here. I think the aggravation of being in Walmart keeps me "even tempered". Now our commissary is the one where you better take a jacket if you want to get any shopping done - yeah I can practically see my breath in there ;-)

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  8. "That’s why it’s always so cold in there—all the semi-blind, middle-aged ladies stand four feet away from the freezer holding the doors wide open."

    I read this right after I made my eye appointment. I made my eye appointment right after I asked Sweet Pea to read me the number on the back of the Bath & Body Works gift card I found in my purse so I could call and see if it had a balance. I asked her to read it to me right after I tried to read it myself and inadvertently called HP Services and spoke with a nice young man named "Tom" with a middle eastern accent. :-)

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  9. Ha! You know the ONLY bragging rights I have with my friends is that I'm older than all of them and I don't need reading glasses yet. Ya gotta grab hold of whatever you can to feel superior. I love HP services. I call them sometimes just to talk. Thanks for commenting girl!

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