i’m in line at the grocery – in front of me is an ordinary looking woman, brown hair, wearing jeans, maybe in her mid-thirties. The cashier is a tall black man whose accent suggests he may be from Africa – or somewhere rather than the US.
i tell you these things merely to set the stage – it could have been any woman and any cashier.
i’m putting my groceries on the conveyor, barely half listening to them. The cashier says something, a question, the woman replies, “Oh, did you say – what is this for? It’s – well, it’s ginger.” Something in her voice makes me glance up as she goes on, “It’s, well I use it for ginger ale, I – you know – I make my own. With, you know, seltzer water.”
And i am catapulted back into time – that time i was tasked with buying a cucumber – such an innocent vegetable – and the anxiety i enjoyed around it. Feeling convinced that the cashier and anyone in line with me would know this was a cucumber with a nefarious destiny. It makes me smile, standing in line at the grocery, remembering.
But what about this women in front of me – what do you think? Does she really make her own ginger ale? Or is there figging in her future?
We’ll never know…