Delirium at the Grocery

We're all off our rocks.

 When a thought enters your head that makes you ashamed to have ever successfully made your first breath, but then you realize that everyone has those deranged moments when they want nothing more than to kill their mother or act out lewd fantasies in the church pew as the lone repenter kneels just rows away rubbing their prayer beads slick and grimy. Yes, we've all had these slip ups in which we let the mind run it's natural train of thought, but this is a deep pool that is hard to climb out of, with its water murky and thick acting like the desperate pull of a past lover's hickey upon your battered skin. These thoughts distract me. The simple beep brings me back. Another beep. Another $4.88. Let the good times roll. The conveyor belt pulls my necessities closer to the pudgy hands of the cashier. He is a mouth breather. He is far too pale for a profession involving fluorescent lighting and buffed floors, his lips a shade too deep for his complexion. It is strange how these slight imperfections can make one question a persons character, can I trust this man to bag my carefully curated, hand selected groceries? By the time he tells me my total I loathe this man so much so that I look to the person behind me to signal that this is a loss cause; I am simply incapable of paying this man, but of course, I cave. I swipe away as he huffs out how I could save a child like (insert name here) by adding a dollar to my purchase. I mumble not caring what the outcome could be. I could have saved this poor child or killed them just the same. I still wonder.

The free world outside the doors is thick. My lungs try their best to eat it up. The bags pulling down on my fingers make them turn a tingly purple from their grip. My biceps ache. I need to bulk up. Maybe I'll drink green smoothies and cut all the sleeves to my shirts to get going in the right direction. I make a mental note to myself to make some life changes when I get home, but I file that after my reminder of my daily ritual binge watching. It is essential to prioritize your life. I nod in confirmation to my mental self thus sealing the deal and making all mental notes final.

 My car is the furthest in the lot which I take pride in. I enjoy strolling past all the flustered mothers with children that ram doors into neighboring cars or allow their cart to go rogue as mommie straps in the youngest. These children are destruction units, while I can appreciate their desire to cause mayhem in the paved lots, I do not want to be found in their wake. I am feeling good. This is a sign that everything is about to give way. Nothing will be alright. As I approach my humble means of transportation I notice a healthy dent on my side of the car, this detail makes it all the more personal. I shrug it off. Looks are superficial right? I believe that is the new societal fad. All is well and good until I go to open the door. This dent, this silly and new found dent has rendered my ability to enter and exit my car in a smooth fashion. Now, I want it to be very clear that now and only now in this moment when I imagine the complexities of riding in fashion with a drivers door that does not operate, do I believe this person to be a real and true b*****d. My forehead begins to drip. I must do something unpredictable. I must give a counter attack. I must act out if I hope to feed the animal that is me. So calmly I scour the parking lot hoping to find the culprit. I am a patient hunter. I know that soon enough my prey wounded and vulnerable will fall into my rabid jaws.

Sure enough I see a car, the only car in the lot capable of belonging to some pig f**k that would drive on after damaging a fellow shopper's vehicle. I can feel my body seizing at the thought of this  a*****e carrying on with their day without a second thought. A monster that must be taken down. So, naturally, my groceries become flailing weapons of mass destruction. All was a blur, but my body was burning with rage as produce was forced into undrinkable smoothies within the plastic bags I wielded. Soon I had spectators. No one dared stop the onslaught.

The bags could only take so much and began to rip releasing the now gooey mush that was meant to be my food supply for the next two weeks. Ration was long gone though. My hands were slimy as the plastic clung to my deadly fist that continued to clobber this person's vehicle. The damage far exceeded what had been inflicted upon my own car. Finally, my hands were calm. I looked at my creation. My eyes swelled because I had made something truly extraordinary . This was art. I imagined the car being displayed in renowned museums across the world . People gawking at my masterpiece, posing with my love, analyzing my purpose. Flashes of paparazzi lights as I shy away, playing the role of the self conscious artist. Whole classes would be dedicated to my career.Oh yes. This could be my way into the world. This was a true expression of human emotion and deserved to be treated as such. The fantasy disperses too quickly for me to grab onto its shirt tail. The eyes around me soon made me feel heavy. Too much attention.

-Does anyone have some paper?-

Everyone looks around; at their groceries,at each other, the pavement, their phones, everything, but me now that we had acknowledged each others presence. I was no longer a spectacle but a civil being. A woman rummages through her purse and approaches.

-And a pen?-

All is well and good. She hands it over. All is well.

Next time leave a note. God bless.

The last little bit gets me. A nice touch. I feel myself smile. Making my way to my car the people part the sea of tar. I am a God in this moment. I can hear a man go ballistic as I drive out the shopping center. Let the good times roll. God bless.  

Author's Note

Grammar is not my things.

Reviews

[Mayank]

Amazing description! I loved the pauses, dissonance, and the way scenario is imagined - it overpowers you to imagine that store, the girl, and the people around.