Publix and Stuff

What it do, children? Before I begin addressing issues, I’m going to say this only 10,000 times, so listen up; I HATE SOUTH FLORIDA DRIVERS. You guys suck, and if you aren’t a south Florida driver, or you disagree, or are offended, f*ck you, I don’t care. I think I’m entitled to using that word considering one of you southfloridians just tried to kill me on my way home from Publix. If you see me driving my out-dated car, just try and drive a little better than a trained-ape. And not well-trained, either.

Anyway. Up in Tallahassee, we at Florida State and FAMU have this joke about Publix…the one on Ocala is commonly called “Club Publix” because it might as well be a club. Girls come dressed to the nines, guys look like they’ve been ripped from the pages of GQ and I don’t know if it’s because the frat houses are across the street but whatever. The point is, you can get a date at Club Publix if you can work the eye contact. And if you’re a typical college student and you came in for some R. Noodles in your PJ’s, there’re some scrubs for you too.

But the motherfin’ diversity down where I live creates a language barrier that becomes laughable when attraction penetrates cultural difference and encourages a “holler.” I am five ten. This will become relevant later. I wanted some mediocre sushi NOW. So I went to Publix in jeans and my new “Hated it” t-shirt from In Living Color. (laugh its okay). I also put on my SWAT hat ßthis is a conversation piece. Go figure. Anyway, I wasn’t two seconds out the car when this quarter English speaking five foot nothing Publix worker says “Hey, I haven’t see you in a long while! What’s going on?” He wasn’t quite so colloquial, though I may have implied, but that was the gist of it nonetheless.

True. You hadn’t seen me in 23 years. So NEVER. And even if you knew me four years ago when I WAS living down here, you certainly weren’t working there. Anyway, I asked him a question about me that he should have known had we been acquainted (my name) and said quickly, “well, I’ll give you till I come back out from Publix to think of it.” I winked at him to seal the deal but I knew I would be avoiding him anyway.

I go INTO Publix, and some short Hispanic lady waved me over frantically and pointed to an item she wanted on the top shelf. A giant bottle of alcohol.
“Would you please?”
Sure. I got her one. Tried to leave. She touched my arm lightly. Pointed again. O-kay. Got her another. I tried to leave AGAIN. She smiled. WTF does anyone need with three XL bottles of alcohol? I want to come to the party! *Shrugs

At the checkout counter, the girl thinks I am on the SWAT team. I put her on. There are no tens in her register. I haven’t had a ten in weeks.

I take the long way to the car to escape another “I don’t know what to say to you to get you to talk to me so I’m just going to act like I already know you” man. When I get home and check -my e- mail, I have a message from a guy who was totally in love with me (supposedly) and when I wasn’t digging him, he pretended to be my friend until he hooked up with a mutual friend of ours and never had time for me. Okay, fine. One less birthday to remember. But does he write to say, sorry he’s been neglectful, or how are you? Yes, of course. But in the same breath (sentence in this case) he tells me about how he broke up with the girl and he’s sad and stuff. Awwww.

Yes, I DO know he’s only coming back with his tail between his legs because he got dumped. Will I take him back? Hell yes. Every woman should have a man that is willing to treat you like his girlfriend even if you aren’t putting out a damn thing. Not even a handshake.


Submit to my will,

-T.

The Asian Guy

As I went looking for furniture in the rain looking like a wet, beaten and abandoned dog, the place i got the furniture from had the HOTTEST jade emperor I've ever seen in person. Yeah, The Oriental guy, Hai, or whatever his name is-good golly miss molly. I envisioned us skipping hand and hand through a field of flowers in the setting sun before he even said hello, and before he smiled we were laughing gaily in a convertible ragtop camero, driving through the golden gate, and before we spoke i was eating Chinese food with his disapproving parents in their house in California. Of course, i looked like hammered shit, mixed with lack of sleep and temperature frizzed hair i could barely communicate with him to express what i needed (from him or otherwise) and answer his questions. I liked to imagined his

"please, call me anytime you want" was saturated with the sweet smell of hidden agenda, but I'm sure he was talking about delivering the furniture. I also want to think his delivering the furniture for free was because he was trying to butter me up, and that it had nothing to do with my father's playful banter, which hid his own "you'd better give us a student discount rate or I'll kick your ass from here to hong kong" agenda.

"is there another number i can reach you with?" he asked me. I pretended a wink and a brilliant cheese followed.

"Yep." i replied. He sat silently waiting for me to give it to me, his lovely muscles jutting out from his polo shirt, his clean fingers posing the black pen above the information sheet. He looked at me lovingly. I mean, patiently. I spat out the number and gave a double meaning to his "i look forward to hearing from you again" and "please don't forget to call" and "call me anytime you need me."
you laugh now, but the next time he sees me he'll be overwhelmed with how flirtatious i can be and blown away when i personally return to give him his "tip" looking my best. He'll be making me stir fry dinners before he knows whats happening, enslaved or not.