Today is Friday. Which means that two days ago, it was Wednesday. Grocery shopping day.
I don’t buy much at the small rural market, mainly because the “fresh” produce they carry usually isn’t. I buy frozen peaches, carrots, frozen green beans, frozen broccoli, and a case of bananas.
Yes, an entire case.
Yes, every week. We eat mostly raw food, thus our primary source of carbohydrates is fruit.
Can you guess what the primary fruit might be. You’re so smart! Yes, bananas! In these tasty dishes known as “smoothies.”
And, yes, on Wednesday. Why? Because the market gets a truck in every Tuesday and Friday evening. Which means if I order something by the case, I can pick it up on Wednesday or Saturday.
I choose Wednesday, because it’s against my religion to go grocery shopping on Saturday.
Oh, wait. Sorry. I was trying to be funny, but it actually is against some people’s religion to go shopping on Saturday.
The assistant manager of the produce department – whose name I know; it’s Mitch – makes sure to order a case of bananas every Monday so it will come on Tuesday so I can pick it up on Wednesday.
If a person buys something by the case, the cashier – whose name I know; it’s Martha – has to call one of the managers to run his I.D. so she can put in the price. Chris is the name of one of the managers. J.T. is the name of the general store manager.
I know their names.
Where everybody knows your name
You might be wondering why I’m making such a big deal about knowing the names of the people who work at the store. Well, that’s pretty common in a small town, everybody knowing everybody else. Right?
It’s true of our bank. Even though we hardly ever go in there anymore, whichever teller-lady waits on us she brings up our account without us having to say “boo.”
Or tell her our name.
Let alone show her our I.D.
If all the bank tellers, who hardly ever see us, can put a name to our faces, wouldn’t you think that it this would be true for the people who see me every single week without fail?
It’s what I had thought. Until, a little while ago from typing these words, I had put the last bag of bananas in the freezer and noticed this:
Now, I’ve seen “sold” written on the banana boxes before. It lets everyone – Chris, J.T., Mitch – know the bananas are not to go out on the display case.
But apparently a higher-up told whoever was writing “sold” that this was not good enough. They had to write the name of the person to whom the case was being sold.
“They” most likely being Mitch.
But I can’t be sure, so I won’t pick on him exclusively. Whoever it is obviously doesn’t know my name. He just knows I’m going to pick up the bananas on Wednesday.
Therefore, he chose the name, “Wednesday Lady.”
I never take pictures, hardly ever pick up my camera, so you have to know I thought the above photo was worth taking. It was pretty funny.
I’m wondering if, next Wednesday, I should drop my driver’s license on the floor right in front of Mitch – uh, I mean Choctaw Market man – so that he has to pick it up.
But then, he might not read my name.
I could ask a question. “Hey, just for grins, is my first name spelled the way you thought it was, or did you have the Southern ‘Emma Lee’ in your head?”
You know, do something real subtle-like to help him out a bit.
Wednesday Lady. LOL.
In truth, the incident inspired me and helped me to zero in on the content and name of my next YouTube channel.
Don’t look for it yet. I’ll tell you when I get it set up.
In the meantime, here, have a banana. I’ve got plenty. 😉