I was at the grocery store the other day, stumbling around the food for fat people and fitness in a bottle section, searching for something that would curb my appetite without raising my heart rate to 790. Of course, such a product does not exist. There was this guy there, a brown-faced, brown-legged, brown-armed type with two white feet and a white right hand who was shooting sheepish glances in my direction. Call me Sherlock, but I figured he was a left-handed golfy type. I braced myself for the chase, and trundled my shopping cart around the corner and into the next aisle. A few moments later, golfguy slithered into view, and when I made eye contact he turned quickly and grabbed the first thing he could find off the shelf, and began to peruse it seriously. Seizing the moment, I set off toward him, and as I passed I whispered, "Actually, I prefer the ones with wings," and made the turn into the next aisle chortling to myself. This was fun.
Later on, I'm in the 10 items or less lane behind a woman who is attempting to pay for a toothbrush with a check, but she can't find her driver's license. There is a woman at the next cashier, in the 1000 items or more wide lane, who is going to have run carpool and made dinner before I get out of here. Then, golfguy sidles up behind me. "You're the guy who works for ABC, right?" he grins. I give him my best, "Someone else is using your brain cell" look. "I can't even spell ABC," I say. "I'm a mobile microphone holder for CBS." "Oh right," he says undaunted. "Sorry about that, Feherty, that's right. I should know, I did your tax return last year. I work for the IRS, can you spell that?"
Instantly I regretted not having had the foresight to have picked up a bottle of Pepto-bismol, in the, "You're about to soil yourself section." There followed a transfer of sheepishness.
Funny enough, it turned out that golfguy is actually a truly wonderful human being, who now owns an autographed picture of me. Also, I said I'd get him one of Curtis.