in praise of the co-op store
Probably most cities have a co-op store. I shop frequently at my local co-op grocery store, for myriad reasons. The store stocks stewing hens at a great price. (Have you ever wandered fruitlessly around a city, looking for stewing hens, to cure your nearest and dearest of a vicious cold or flu, only to turn up empty handed? I tell you, hie thee to the Co-op.)
I love trout, but can never find it. There it is, beautiful, coral, gleaming, fresh, at the Co-op. I usually hum a few strains of The Trout (Schubert, I think) as I trot down the aisle, cradling it in my arms, already imagining how it will be transformed into a glorious meal, after dashes of olive oil and kosher salt.
I know it sounds crazy, but there are fewer crabby shoppers at the Co-op than at other stores. Maybe it is because the staff is happier? Or the customers are happier? I can only say I am am happier when people aren’t ramming their shopping carts into me and then cursing at me as if it were my fault, while flinging bags of frozen veggies around like soccer balls. I want shopping to be a swift and easy experience, not a gauntlet. I am grateful for the relative serenity of the Co-op.
And last, but not least, I love the Co-op, because every time I am fondling a piece of trout or salmon, I am just ten feet away from a rack with a display of history books, which includes – YES! – my first book, Rebel Women: Achievements Beyond the Ordinary.
Of course, I am totally cool about it. I don’t stand in front of the rack for more than a few minutes. But sometimes, I shamelessly accost strangers with beef briskets in their hands, and point at the book, and say, “I wrote that! It is a Canadian bestseller!”
I wish I could report that they then proceed to fall about in 25 different directions, totally impressed. Instead, they usually back away from me, very carefully. However, sometimes, I have actually run across a person who doesn’t think I am a lunatic or impostor, who gets me to sign the book, and then buys it, bless them! Is this a great life or what?
Onward to my next shopping trip,
Linda