« Quick bout of OCD »

(Remember author-protagonist-narrator distance.)

Ralph’s grocery store on Sunset Blvd on a Monday at 11:14pm is a very difficult place to be, especially if I am wearing my glasses.

They’re great glasses, don’t get me wrong. I think they look good on me. But the black frames my vision, blurs the outsides, whets light sources into little daggers, creates for me my own little world of wretched ignorance.

I should never leave the house at night when I have my glasses on. This night, though, thirst urged me out the door. I had no bottled water, the tap was unattractive (it had only been two days since mud came out in a backwash of Los Angeleno sewer flushing), and I had a few dollars in my pocket with some meter change in my car.

At Ralph’s: Okay, get in, find the cheapest water, get out so you can get back to reading. Not so easy. Why are there so many big men in workers’ clothes here? Oh. Equipment. Equipment everywhere. The shelves are empty. They are installing new freezers. Panic!: my cart can’t maneuver these aisles with all the big women hoisting large cans of beans! U-turn. Finally, the water has been thrown into a heap in front of the sausages. Arrowhead is the cheapest at three ninety-nine for– one two three four one two three four five six four times six– twenty-four bottles. Make a big circle around the other side to avoid the big people. Wait, I need something sweet, I need a fruit juice. With the water so cheap I can just make it without getting out my card.

Ah, Odwalla. My savior. Not the usual carrot juice. Try something new. Pomegranate juice! The billboards advertising its health benefits surge and flash and my hand approaches the little bottle. Fifteen point four fluid ounces. I pick up the bottle. Two for six dollars?! Are they out of their minds, these crazy fruit juicers?! Oh. There’s a bigger jug down below. Every price tag on this row says six ninety-nine. Okay, sixty-four ounces. That’s roughly… fifteen times four makes sixty…three times four makes twelve... twelve minus seven... Wow. I am saving about five dollars by buying this large jug of Odwalla pomegranate juice. Now I can return home to my book. Cue triumphant march music.

Waiting in line. Counting breaths. Hilary Duff is on two magazine covers. The bikinis are different colors. I don’t know who she is. Singer? Actress? Fighting with Paris Hilton? Anne Hathaway is so pretty. What is it about her? Smile. Eyes. Eyebrows. Everything, really. Ugh J. Lo. So gross. Gum gum gum gum gum Neosporin Democrats religion. Anne Hathaway. Move up closer in the line. Lift beverages onto belt. I hate Rachel Ray. Why has the Food Network allowed her to take over? Oh. My turn. Too slow in finding Ralph’s card. Man behind me offers his to the cashier, maybe. Black frames keep me from knowing for sure. I hesitate to thank him. What if he didn’t actually do it? Then he would think I'm crazy for saying thank-you for no reason. Well, it’s too late anyway. Let him be disappointed. What? Why do I need to pay nineteen ninety-eight? But I thought the pomegranate juice… Excuse me sir, I thought the pomegranate juice... I… Oh. Sorry. Never mind. Debit card out. Hurry back to the car. Shit, I just spent thirteen dollars on juice. Stupid Odwalla. Shit.

Why are there so many pedestrians out at 11:32pm on a Monday? Don’t they know that people with glasses have a hard time driving at night? Flash of light! Car goes through a red light. Another flash of light. Another car goes through same red light. I’m glad the city caught them. I could have died. But now my eyes hurt even more.

I enter the driveway. Cats’ eyes repeat the theme by reflecting my headlights through my glasses into my eyes. That’s an odd noise. I think I just hit her car. Shit. Turn favorite Timbaland song down. Car back in drive. Her car moves down. Shit shit shit. This time I did it for sure. Why did I wear my glasses?! WHY WHY WHY?! Relax. Get out of the car and look at it. Rub rub rub. It’s coming off. She hasn’t washed it in so long that the street grease let my car slip right by. But I have to get this off, though. Turn back to the apartment building. No one is watching. Get in my car to breath and think of a plan. Don’t want to go into my house and come back because she SPIES all the time. Don’t want to risk it. She knows everything, that woman. Ah! I have Bulgari Eau Parfumée Oshibori au thé vert Serviette Rafraîchissante in my glove box. They’re moist enough. Maybe she won’t notice that this part is cleaner than the rest.

I keep smelling my fingers. Bulgari and street grease. Truly refreshing! And now I am back in the safety of my house.