The Nordic Warrior Queen asked me to stop at the grocery store on my way home. She wanted pork chops, milk and bread, and a head of broccoli. Oh, and get some beer for Debbie, please.
I hate pork chops and broccoli. I planned to tell her they were out of chops and get some brisket instead. And since the Ubercat insists on sitting under the table during dinner, I would feed her my portion of broccoli. It’s good for her.
I went to Whole Foods. I don’t normally shop at those yuppie health food places, with their tofu and organic produce and hormone-free beef. All that natural food stuff is just a gimmick.
Except the Whole Foods by our house has a bar in the back. No shit. They have twenty beers on tap. We’re not talking about that weasel piss Miller Lite here. They have Guinness, Paulaner, Widmer and New Belgium seasonals, and nine IPAs. What a great place.
Grocery shopping is tough work, so after filling the cart (sure enough, they were out of pork chops), I stopped for a quick one. The Nordic Warrior Queen wouldn’t mind. Just in case, though, I tossed some flowers in the cart. Ironically, the floral cart is located right next to the bar.
That beer was so darned good I couldn’t resist another. And then, to finish things up, I just had to have a Belgian. It’s okay, though, they come in small glasses.
I had the munchies by then, and it was getting late. Screw dinner. It’d be much better to go home, make some snacks, and snuggle up on the couch with the Nordic Warrior Queen to watch Terminator. She loves that movie.
Nothing spells Friday night like cheese dip and beer. I grabbed a couple cases of Miller Lite for the girls and a six–pack of IPA for me, and went to find the Velveeta.
I’m not one to ask directions, so I pushed my cart all over the store, up one aisle and down the other. Where the hell was the Velveeta?
On my third lap through the store, this pimple-faced stockboy stopped me in the aisle. He raised his hand like a traffic cop. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Umm…I’m looking for the Velveeta?”
“Gee, I’m kind of new here, but I don’t think we carry that. It’s not very good for you.”
I couldn’t believe this. “Okay, fine. Do you have any organic pasteurized processed cheese food?”
“Let me check.”
Just what I was afraid of. He ran to the back of the store. Seconds later, I heard his pre-pubescent voice on the PA system. “Manager to aisle five. Customer looking for Velveeta.”
Gasps of horror went up all around the store. From either end of the aisle, heads popped around the corner and stared. Within moments, a hippie-looking woman in a hemp dress hurried down the aisle.
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth. Can I help you?”
I knew I was out of luck asking for Velveeta. “Do you have any processed cheese food?”
She looked like a schoolteacher explaining to little Johnny why it’s a good idea to wash his hands after he pees. No, that’s not healthy for you. How about some nice range-fed goat cheese?”
I edged my way towards the door. “Yeah, thanks, but I don’t think that will work for cheese dip. What I’m really looking for is Velveeta.”
“Cheese dip! Velveeta!” she shouted. The store went quiet. Everyone looked at me. “How can you do that to yourself?”
“Geez, lady. It’s not like I’m—”
“The sodium phosphate, the synthetic alginate, the APOCAROTENAL!” She spat each word like an epithet.
I ditched the cart and ran for the door. She followed behind, clubbing me in the head with a stalk of organic celery. “How could you? How could you?”
I jumped in the car and headed to Fry’s. I don’t like Whole Foods anymore. I’m drinking at home from now on.
P.S. Thanks to Paco at http://montoyainc.com/pacodoesbacon/ for letting me steal his Velveeta picture. I would have taken my own Velveeta picture, but…well, you know.