Dry County
Breaking a pact with myself, I called ahead to the Chinese restaurant nearby. Chinese food is almost never a good idea for lunch. The resulting food coma is too debilitating for me to endure while working. Even so, I walked over to pick it up, and pick it up, I did. While this particular restaurant has a few fun choices on their lunch menu, what they *don’t* have is bottled water. I’d learned this months prior, yet always forget until I’m there paying for my lunch and hear the unmistakable notes of disappointment theme music start drifting around my head. I’ve been on a huge water kick lately. The result of this is a near unquenchable thirst, requiring water at hand all the live-long day. As fate would have it, there is a liquor store next to the restaurant and I wandered in to grab my requisite liter to accompany lunch.I’d seen the man at the counter before. We had a brief, but memorabley odd encounter a few months ago where he used what I assume is his signature “thank you” to customers and called after me, “Stay good looking!”. He’s older. English is not his first language, but he has the vibe of someone who has lived here a very long time. I assume this is actually his store, given his comfort level at the counter and his sassy reparte with customers. Today, he was up to his usual schtick, but he had a more developed patter to play with. He rang up my water and then scurried to the end of the counter where he had a small refrigeration unit. I assumed we were finished conducting business, so I made a break for the door. He stopped me with, “Hey! Wait! Let me give you dessert!” Now, dessert is something I rarely turn down, but I was already heaving a fat laden styrofoam container of honey walnut chicken back to my office, so I politely declined. He was insitant. I walked back to the counter and he again used his signature “thank you” on me, this time with a twist.
“Can you promise me something? Promise me you will stay good looking!” He said.
“Okay……you know…I really shouldn’t have dessert then…..” My voice trailed off completely revealing my suspician and reluctance to indulge what was sure to follow.
He offered me a hug, then showed me a bag of Hershey’s Hugs that he had ferreted out of the cooler. He then told me that I could “stand to put on a few ounces”, which is innocuous enough, even slightly flattering. He continued and began pantomiming large breasts while he explained that when women gain weight, that is where it goes.
“Okay, then. Thanks.” I said upon leaving with my Hershey’s Hug. Yuck. I might never eat one again. I might never eat anything Hershey again.