By Steve Bussiere
There are times in my life when I am blessed with clarity.
I am taken back in time and the minutest of details surrounding a situation are alive and real. I think everyone has these moments from time to time. Anyone who was around when JFK was assassinated is able to recall exactly where they were and what they were doing, with total clarity. Unfortunately, not all memories are that precise, but that doesn't discount their validity as far as I know.
I had one these cloudier, unspiritual moments at the grocery store yesterday. This isn't unusual I suppose, I have a lot of unspiritual moments in the grocery store, depending on the other clientele in there. These people are completely focused on quality, freshness, price and other ridiculous things.
I'm usually focused on the more aesthetic side of things as I browse.
You have to be careful when you focus on that because you could get slapped in the face if you aren't.
I went in the store to browse, trying to decide upon just what I should destroy for dinner.
Self control is of the utmost importance in the grocery store. It's just as important as which size basket you begin with.
I have, over the years, come up with my own set of rules for grocery shopping, which I vainly attempt to strictly adhere to.
Never shop when you are hungry.
Never shop when you have had more than one adult beverage, this rule works in singles bars just as effectively.
Never shop when you are depressed.
Never shop when you are elated, because that may even be worse for everything in your life.
Never shop when you don't have a clue as to what you want to get, because you get a lot more than you bargained for, which is not a bargain.
Never look at women in the store because you lose your focus, and it reverts back to the previous rule.
And certain aisles must be avoided at all times because they put them in there to tempt you.
So now I hate grocery shopping almost as much as I despise the mall.
Danger in merchandising!
Defensive shopping! That is my new motto.
Well, despite my own, pure intentions, I entered the store yesterday, blindly ignoring most, if not all of the rules for shopping I have set out.
So I ended up with a lot of stuff I don't like, but may use someday if I'm lucky.
I raced through the store with a small hand held basket, looking at women, losing focus and going down the bloody temptation aisles. A sheep being led to slaughter, so to speak.
I looked at my basket, blushed furiously, and returned to the front to exchange it for a cart, because they are easier to push than to carry.
After I had picked out all of this stuff I'll probably never use, I pushed the Titanic toward the cash.
They sell DVD Movies in there now. I remember a time when movies weren't considered groceries, but evolution is in perpetual motion.
I looked at the shelf and saw "Les Miserables".
That was when I had another less than completely lucid moment.
I went back in my mind to the late eighties or early nineties. That was as clear as I could get on it.
It was one of my many birthdays. I remembered back. I was living north of Toronto at the time, and having recently spent some time there, I try not to think of that place as much as is humanly possible.
My mother gave me a card. I opened it up and there were tickets to see "Les Miserables".
I grimaced and then smiled and thanked her for the lovely gift.
"Stephen" she said to me, "It's time you acquired some culture."
Well, I couldn't bear to tell her at the time, but culture was probably the last thing in the world I was looking for. Culture is in yogurt, and I hate yogurt. So I wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of this. But I didn't say it aloud. My mother raised me a lot better than that, and you have to always respect your parents. Oh, I must remember to share that little piece of wisdom with my kids some day.
So on the appointed date and time, I entered the theater and we took our seats. Thrilled with the knowledge that I was about to become "Yogurt Man" and the resulting cultural enlightenment I would be able to pass along to my children, when their time arrived.
Hey, it was alright, kind of. But they sing too much for my liking, maybe because I didn't know the words. … nor the tunes.
Finally they stopped, and the curtain fell. I smiled. Kind of a stupid ending, but I was being released for good behavior.
NOT!
"Come on Stephen, let's step out for a breath of fresh air. We have about fifteen minutes for intermission."
"Dear God! Save me from the Ying Yangs!" I cried out in my mind.
"No, not yet." came the silent answer from above.
So, far too quickly I returned to my seat. It was only half way through and my butt was already really sore.
In retrospect it really was quite the production. There were all kinds of scantily clad fat women running around on the stage singing about something I hope to never understand, or even remember.
Well, when the production mercifully ended, my mother asked me what I thought of it.
"It was really long. You sure got great value for the tickets. Especially if the price was based on a per minute cost, when you bought them."
My mother is a Saint, and a patient one at that, so she simply smiled and replied, "I'm glad you liked it, Honey."
I kissed her cheek, rubbed my own sore cheeks, and left to return home to a soft chair.
Last night, I looked at the DVD, remembered my mother's gracious gift, smiled at the memory, picked up the movie and went to the check out counter.
After paying, I went back to my car. I looked back at the grocery store. I thought about my mother, and smiled.
I thought about watching my newly purchased DVD.
I rubbed my cheeks and a tear rolled down my other cheek as I got into my car.
"Yogurt Man has left the grocery store." I thought as I drove out of the parking lot.
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