I GOT “DISSED”

I was in the produce section of the supermarket the other day, shopping for a Valentine’s Day Dinner. (Recipes available upon request). Above the usual din there was the rather voluble presence of a woman nearby, on her cell phone. This is not unusual, of course. Everyone at the market these days uses shopping as a time to share oddly intimate bits of conversation. I have had people look me right in the eye and shout, “I hate Corn Flakes,” without my being aware that they were on a blackberry. It takes me two aisles to recover from the shock.

But this one particular woman had caught my eye. Was it the bubble-gum pink, stretch-chenille jump-suit? Was it the Dorothy Lamour Turban? The gypsy bangle earrings? Or was it her facility with “Ebonics”. I actually heard her say into her phone “Axe me that again? Axe me.” She was a fabulous, albeit noisy, creature and all I had to do to avoid her was pick up a bag of lettuce. Just as I was about to reach for the bag she swung her cart across the aisle in front of me and began a lengthy conversation with the Produce Manager. And as a result, she blocked my path.

I politely said: “Excuse me.” But there was no response. Figuring that she was distracted either by her phone call or her question to the produce department, I said again, a little louder but without any attitude: “Excuse me.” The woman turned, looked at me and pulled her shopping cart aside. As I passed her she said, not to me, nor to the store management, but to the Universe at large, “Are there no other aisles in this supermarket?” I was absolutely gob-smacked, and spun around and explained, rather limply, that this aisle was the most direct route to my lettuce.

And then came the “coup de grace.” Not content with just being rude in blocking the aisle, and then rude again in suggesting that I walk fifty feet out of my way so she wouldn’t have to go to all the trouble of moving her cart three feet, she now said to her party on the phone. “No, I am not talking to you,” adding, “I’m talking to some OLD MAN!”

Nothing in my Presbyterian upbringing had prepared me for this. In hindsight there were a lot of things I could have and should have said in response, but I was so stunned by this double whammy of bad manners, that it took me 20 feet before my brain kicked in and my mouth would even open. And by this time, she was long gone. But not alas the woman who rounded the corner just at the moment I shouted: “ BITCH!”

I drove home in a rage, which now included anger at my own bad manners. And oddly enough, the only way I could resolve this slight was to acknowledge that this woman had simply gotten the better of me. She had insulted me, publicly. She had “dissed” me. And I had not been able to muster a rebuttal.

When I arrived home, I came upon a letter requesting monies for the United Negro College Fund. I have been an ongoing supporter of that particular charity ever since I met Cordell down in Dallas. (Another story, for another day). But this time I tossed the unopened letter into the garbage, vowing never again to support them, because of this wretched woman.

When I unpacked my groceries I realized that in my upset, I had forgotten not only my lettuce, but also the dozen roses that I had planned for the dining table. So I had to go all the way back to the supermarket, only to discover that the price of roses had skyrocketed for Valentine’s Day.

A young black employee appeared and said that though she didn’t work for the floral department, she’d help me, and together we located a dozen pink roses. And here’s the happy ending: they were on sale for four dollars. We were both thrilled. I thanked her profusely and drove home. And I went straight to the garbage can, and fished out the solicitation from The Negro College Fund.

© Bruce Gray 2007