My wife and I needed to visit the grocery store last night for some items she needed for Easter dinner today. I prefer to hit the Kroger's on Secor at Monroe, which is closer to our house, but my wife prefers the Kroger's at Miracle Mile (Laskey at Jackman) for a reason too lengthy to disclose in this post.
Yes, Toledo is like that: Kroger must control 50 percent of the grocery market, and for many folks, the decision on where to shop boils down to a choice between Kroger's, a grocery chain that also features items such as outdoor supplies and office furniture.
Anyways, late night shopping always brings out the strangest folks, and the store at Miracle Mile is located where people from almost all walks of life will visit. There are some expensive homes up near Alexis, as well as lower-income housing complexes like the apartments at Brooke Park and those at Larchmont Gardens.
Last night was a night where the store was populated by the type of folks who will spend $15,000 to trick out a 1982 Oldsmobile Cutlass while living in a rusty trailer or a roach-infested apartment. You know the kind: baggy expensive velour track suits, $200 tennis shoes, and lots of hair grease.
And that's just the women.
Anyways, while shopping and people-watching, I saw a mother with three kids walking along the cereal aisle. The children were pulling a dozen varieties of cereals off the shelves, while the mother talked on her cell phone and shook her head at their sugary choices. She leaned heavily on her shopping cart, being quite large in girth and perhaps fatigued from a long day of TV watching.
OK, that was a bit mean, since I have not walked a mile in her forest green Timberlands, but trust me on this part. She paused from her conversation to make the following request of her daughter, who appeared to be about 10 years of age:
"SKYLAR! Reach around and pull up my pants. They falling down." (Note: requisite auxiliary verb omitted in original dialogue)
Not missing a beat, she returned to her phone conversation and cart-leaning, and her daughter did in fact hoist up the spandex-waisted track suit over the woman's hefty hips before returning to her cereal selections.
It must be love. If one of my relatives (at least, those not with a relevant disability) asked me to pull up their pants, I would have been irritated and told the lazy sot to put down the cell phone and lift her own clothing.
And what kind of name is "Skylar," anyways? Yeah, I know: "Tyler" plus "sky," but I guess I am just reaching the age where I am growing weary of incessant individualism.
Or maybe I am just a cranky curmudgeon who needs to chill out.