Thank you so much. I was recently in one of your stores (the vast one, next to the city). I was there to pick up a few sundry items on my day off. We ran out of soda--and you know how I have been a fiend for carbonation lately. I was leaning over some confusing Manager Special beef platter when ne of your stock boys said hi to me; I wasn't sure if it was a customer service, "Hi" or a let's chat about your Return of the Jed
i purse. "Hey there," so I decided against the tray in order to ensure a return to invisibility. Having worked in customer service, I know it is encouraged that clerks and stockers and the like to check in on customers. Make patter. While I am talented as the customer service asker, I truly dislike being the askee. That's really neither here nor there, as it's not as though this fellow chased me down for a dissertation on Hoth system. In fact I easily returned to my invisiblity, trading meat browsing for yogurt browsing. I heaved a jug of orange juice into the cart, because I should never shop thristy because I proceed to crave every juice imaginable.
This is when you made your first move, K. Over the tinny pa system came the first subtle, storytelling chords of Otis Redding's Try a Little Tenderness
. As you know, this song makes me all sorts of sparkly inside. It is not, however, designed with invisibility in mind. As the song builds, the dancing--the frantic otherworldy twitching I call dancing--sneaks up through my lower intestine and into my nervous system. I am left helpless by the crescendo, a mess of limbs and hair dance/twitching with complete disregard for being out in public with folks who just want to buy Froot Loops. I ducked into the pasta aisle to avoid notice, just in case the light head bobbing I resolved to limit myself to got backed up and the surplus came out fingertips and feet as it almost certainly always does. However there was a another stock chap down this aisle--also eager and willing to assist me should I need it (good training, K) so I paused and quickly selected some mushroom ravioli. Which I am sure will be delicious, even if it was a hurried selection. The song was building to its crescendo and I could feel myself overfilling--despite my best efforts to nod, whistle, and lowly sing out the excess.
I scooted over to the health food section. No one is ever there after all. I thought I could huddle, shake out a few grooves, and resume my shopping with no notice. Otis kept building building building. He was really begging for it this morning. Little did he know he was also prompting some chick with Elaine dance moves and music induced mania to commit some atrocities by the Tofutti. I started to release, a little ankle shake, an imperceptible shoulder waggle, when two more stock guys turned the corner and started heading my way. I caught my breath, tightened my limbs, and attempted to look super interested in some spelt. The stock boys, why the hell is everyone so g-d friendly?, smiled at me. Otis was about to take it home, break it down, take it to the top, over the edge, etc etc. The vibrations in my bones let me know there was no way I could be still. I resolved to go wherever my body took me in the moment--men in matching polos be damned. I let the song fill my ears...
But Otis didn't continue, instead the dulcet tones of your PA system informed me that there was a sale on somesuch and that of course I could be saving lots of cash with your customer savings program. Normally I would smack someone on the mouth for turning off Otis at his peak, especially to replace soul with customer loytaly messaging. But today, K, you knew it was just what I needed. I straightened. Felt a bead of sweat drip down my back and headed for the soda aisle. You even politely played Billy Joel, some good comedown kind of tune, and then continued with some eighties rot I didn't even know the words to.
So, while I must question your taste in music K, knowing how to relieve a gal of the threat of publicspasms is indeed something to be celebrated. Thanks so much.