I’m a little crazy at times. Even a little more than a little crazy at times. But I know I’m kind of crazy – and that awareness makes me feel alright about it. I also know that most everyone is a little crazy too. And I like it. It makes life interesting and fun, and a bit roller-coastery.
But there is a line that can get crossed. And that line last night involved the woman in line ahead of me at the hippie organic market where I like to shop/commune with my suppressed inner bohemian.
I’m at the prepared foods counter waiting to get my gluten-free brown rice ball (surprisingly delicious), and the lady in front of me is getting a combo platter. For her first of three selections, she chose roasted potatoes. “But not too many!” she decreed as she glanced at me for validation that… uh… too many potatoes are… the devil? Sensing she was no ordinary, everyday kind of crazy, I responded by pretending she was invisible. Her next selection was brussel sprouts. “No walnuts though – I don’t want walnuts!”, followed by “Remove that walnut – take that one walnut out!” Again, she looked to me for solidarity on the walnut thing. Again, I stood strong and averted her gaze. (My solidarity was with the lady behind the counter who had to deal with this wal-nut customer). Lastly, for her third dish, she went with chicken. Seems pretty straightforward, right? “The big piece in the front!” she said as she snickered to me as if it’s common sense that one would ask for the big piece when faced with several exactly identical chicken breasts.
I have to say, as much as I didn’t appreciate her, I also did because she made me look like the easiest customer ever. I said “one rice ball please,” leaving it in the hands of fate which rice ball would be mine. (And thank god I didn’t get the bum one, or else, ya know, I’d have had to sent it back while making eyes at the dude behind me, for surely he’d understand that no one in their right mind would want the runt rice ball).