In Chicago, the Rainbo is for carousing and Rainbow is for buying inexpensive and highly flammable polyester-blend clothing. Here, Rainbow is for grocery shopping. It's one of my favorite places to buy food in the city because — as silly as this sounds — there's no meat department, and the cheese selection is choice. Plus, unlike the cashiers at Safeway, the Rainbow workers do not call me Aldona Uburtis — which must be the fake name I gave when signing up for the corporate discount-club membership years ago.
Today I made the mistake of heading to the Rainbow Grocery on a mostly empty stomach. Fueled by that vacancy, any food that seemed even mildly appealing went into the cart. Gianduja bar! Apple cider! Sparkling apple cider! Hard apple cider! Cheese! Honeycrisps! Fake buffalo wings! All of it and so much more went into the cart with very little concern for cost. Unfortunately, my cavalier attitude and lack of food selectivity means that I hauled home $180 worth of snacks — by far the most I've ever spent on groceries in one trip. Our pantry is now overflowing with impulse buys of little nutritional value. If armed robbers burst through the door and demanded a sandwich, I could only feebly shake a box of ginger-caramel sesame popcorn at them. (And a variety of apple ciders from which to choose.)
After dropping off the car, I had a peculiar walk home. I crutched past a mostly toothless homeless guy whose leathery, suntanned skin was more or less the same color as his shirt. He took a break from digging in a trash bin to say, "Oh, what happened to you, baby?" He didn't say it in a sleazy way at all; the "baby" was tender, not leering. "I broke my foot," I said. He gave me a sympathetic smile and said, "You've got to be more careful." I smiled, thanked him, went on my way.
In the next block, a gaggle of lesbians were congregating at the beginning my street. "Ladies, ladies," I drawled. "I'm flattered, but you can't all walk me home." (I didn't really say that.) Honestly, it was intimidating to approach them. I got a lot of standoffish gay gazes, just like I did when walking around Portland with Megan in July. Back then, I had thought that the girls mistakenly assumed I was Megan's special ladyfriend, and perhaps they were giving me jealous dagger-eyes because of that. (Can you blame them? Megan's a catch.) But as I excuse me-d through the gaggle of glaring gay girls today, I wondered if maybe I give off some sort of weird vibe that rubs people the wrong way. Something to think about. On that note, the post title is not meant to be some slur-ish thing. I was just listening to the Raincoats earlier.
Today I made the mistake of heading to the Rainbow Grocery on a mostly empty stomach. Fueled by that vacancy, any food that seemed even mildly appealing went into the cart. Gianduja bar! Apple cider! Sparkling apple cider! Hard apple cider! Cheese! Honeycrisps! Fake buffalo wings! All of it and so much more went into the cart with very little concern for cost. Unfortunately, my cavalier attitude and lack of food selectivity means that I hauled home $180 worth of snacks — by far the most I've ever spent on groceries in one trip. Our pantry is now overflowing with impulse buys of little nutritional value. If armed robbers burst through the door and demanded a sandwich, I could only feebly shake a box of ginger-caramel sesame popcorn at them. (And a variety of apple ciders from which to choose.)
After dropping off the car, I had a peculiar walk home. I crutched past a mostly toothless homeless guy whose leathery, suntanned skin was more or less the same color as his shirt. He took a break from digging in a trash bin to say, "Oh, what happened to you, baby?" He didn't say it in a sleazy way at all; the "baby" was tender, not leering. "I broke my foot," I said. He gave me a sympathetic smile and said, "You've got to be more careful." I smiled, thanked him, went on my way.
In the next block, a gaggle of lesbians were congregating at the beginning my street. "Ladies, ladies," I drawled. "I'm flattered, but you can't all walk me home." (I didn't really say that.) Honestly, it was intimidating to approach them. I got a lot of standoffish gay gazes, just like I did when walking around Portland with Megan in July. Back then, I had thought that the girls mistakenly assumed I was Megan's special ladyfriend, and perhaps they were giving me jealous dagger-eyes because of that. (Can you blame them? Megan's a catch.) But as I excuse me-d through the gaggle of glaring gay girls today, I wondered if maybe I give off some sort of weird vibe that rubs people the wrong way. Something to think about. On that note, the post title is not meant to be some slur-ish thing. I was just listening to the Raincoats earlier.
Labels: san francisco, signs of latent homosexuality, strangers
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