Shopping cart chats

I am the sort of person people like to talk to in the grocery store. By people I mean strangers. They ask me which apples are good for baking. They ask me where to find yams. They ask me what yams are. They tell me about growing up on a farm, chasing chickens around the yard with a hatchet.

Yes. Just last week, a man cornered me in the meat section and joked about how he was glad the chicken was marked "no steroids," because otherwise, how would we know they weren't fed steroids? With all the drug scandals in sports these days, he was glad to know that our American chickens are not artificially pumped up. This led to an extremely long and graphic story about watching his father chase chickens around their yard when he was young. The man thought this was extremely funny. By the time he was finally finished with his story, I was no longer able to look at the meat. I took desperate aim for the cereal aisle, which contained no products for which animals were chased mercilessly around a yard. I'm sure if I stopped to think about these things long enough, I would be a vegetarian. That is why I try very hard NOT to think about these things.

Also recently, a woman came toward me in the cleaning supplies aisle and wanted to know, one woman to another, if it ever got easier to have your in-laws visit. "They're coming this weekend for the first time, and I'm a nervous wreck! My house will never be clean enough! And on top of it, we have workmen who are making a huge mess! And on top of that, I'm obsessive-compulsive!"

I tried to console her by saying she could always blame any lingering mess on the workmen, but she turned on me. "Oh, no! My mother-in-law will just blame me, say I'm not good enough for her son!" She went on to say that her husband had assured her the house looked fine, but if it would make her feel better, she could go out and buy all new cleaning products. Judging from her cart, she had taken him at his word.

She left as abruptly as she'd come, and I was thankful I didn't have her mother-in-law. If I'd told her how nice my mother-in-law is, it probably would have upset her enough to buy another mop.

Another time, a young man approached and asked, in somewhat broken English, where he could find "yam." I asked whether he wanted fresh or canned. He hesitated, then stated that he wanted fresh. I explained that they were in the produce aisle, but I got a blank look. "By the potatoes," I said, gesturing toward that end of the store.

He thanked me profusely and started off in that direction. Then he stopped and came back a few steps. "How about I want canned?" he said.

I directed him to where I thought the canned yams might reside. Whoever sent you to the store is probably going to regret it, I thought.

I fantasize sometimes about bringing all these people together, say in the produce aisle, and see who out-talks or out-questions the others. I'd bet the yams would start flying.