The Princeville
Telephone
"Through My
Kitchen Window"
by
Vickie Callahan
5/24/90
I've been getting my laughs at the grocery store lately, and they seem to be in no short supply.A few weeks ago I was shopping at Kroger in Peoria and came across, in the produce department, the most luscious looking pineapples. The tropical fruits called out my name, and I selected two, even though they weren't on my already gargantuan shopping list.
As the checker scanned my groceries, he saved my pineapples for last (they not bearing a UPC symbol) and when they were all that was left to price, he picked up a two-page listing of what I presumed to be fruit and vegetable prices. I watched as he ran his finger down the columns on both pages and a look of perplexity began to wash over his face. I thought I would lend a little help and said, "I think they're a dollar-ninety-nine."
He replied, "Oh," and resumed running his finger over the pages of pricing. He seemed to be getting nowhere and when he returned to the first page for his third run of the fingers, and the sweat was beginning to bead upon his brow, I heard him mutter, "Let's see, cantaloupes."
I said, "Cantaloupes? Those are pineapples."
"Oh," says he, "I don't know my fruits too well yet."
At this juncture I was glad he had saved my fruit till last, because I wasn't going to be able to contain my giggles for more than a minute or two, and I did manage to remove myself to the parking lot before the laughter dam broke, sparing the young man any further embarrassment.
I never imagined I would find such mirth in the grocery store twice in one lifetime, but was treated to a slapstick comedy affair at Gary's Red Fox Food Store a mere week later.
I had stopped in, family en tow, to pick up some potatoes and chicken. We selected a bag of Idaho potatoes, and as we ventured down the first aisle, I noticed there was a hole in the bag. It wasn't terribly large, and there was one thread of plastic still stretched across the hole, so I just placed the bag in the cart and continued shopping. I got my chicken and a few other odds and ends of things, then headed for the checkout stand. I had been chatting with the children and glanced up to watch the scanning process just in time to see the clerk type into the computerized register, "Kiwi--40¢". I looked down the counter and spied a brown orb rolling into the corner. I said, "That's not mine. I didn't buy a kiwi."
My husband looked at me as if I'd suffered a spontaneous frontal lobotomy and said, "That's your potato."
The checker looked at us both as if to say, "What have I done?"
I explained that he had just rung my escaped potato up as a kiwi and showed him the hole in the potato sack. He retrieved the potato from the corner and took another look at it. He seemed a little embarrassed over his mistake, so I told him not to be too chagrined, because a potato far better resembles a kiwi than a pineapple does a cantaloupe. He joined my husband and me in some lighthearted laughter as I relayed the story of the pineapple.
Just as he was finishing ringing up my purchases, the sacker showed up and bagged my groceries as I was paying for them. The young man who had arrived late on the scene to sack our groceries handed my husband a bag and had reached for the second bag, when I saw him stop and pick up a little brown ball. He looked it over very thoroughly then asked, "What's this?"
Husband and I said, in unison, "IT'S A POTATO!"
By the time I got through the door I was laughing so hard that I couldn't see where I was going and had to lean against the building while I tried to get a grip on myself.
No need to call "TelEdition" any more for the joke of the day. The next time I'm feeling a little blue or out of sorts, I can go to the grocery store. There's a wealth of mirth in the produce department.
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