Life in the Big City

No, not New York.

As you may or may not know (or may or may not care), my better half lives in Philadelphia, where she is completing a year-long requirement for her doctorate. As such, I have been spending a fair amount of time up here while school is out. The people here are a bit, how do you say, different.

Last night we went to Target to pick up some cereal and milk because we were about to run out of those necessary breakfast supplies. We had stopped at Chipotle (hooray burritos!) ahead of time and Target is in the parking lot so it was quicker than driving back down City Ave. to SuperFresh. So we go in and hilarity ensues.

First off, for whatever reason, Target is now selling a line of David Hasselhoff birthday cards. These are not cards that you send to David Hasselhoff on his birthday, but rather cards that you send to your (soon to be ex) friends on their birthdays. They had pictures of Hasselhoff in a pool holing one of those lifeguard thingees from Baywatch, one of him climbing a mountain, and a few shots of him from the 1980s. There were about 8 different ones. They included such lines as (paraphrasing) "It is bad to get hassled on your birthday. You just got Hassle-hoffed on your birthday," and "You are much cooler than David Hasselhoff, even though you don't have a German fan base that thinks you are a god," and so on. The absolute shocker was that they appeared to have sold some.

Sidebar: Why is it that now that companies sell cards that play music, everyone in the store has to come over and open the cards to hear the music? Haven't you heard "Who Let the Dogs Out" before? I was at Books A Million trying to enjoy a free read when and this old bitty decided to open every musical card they had twice. Does it really sound different when it comes out of a greeting card? Now if they could put "Who Let the Dogs Out" in a Hasselhoff card, I might buy that.

So we get through the store and do the obligatory looking for other things we might need and we make it back to the front with our box of cereal and our gallon of milk. At this point, out of 24 register stands exactly 6 are open. There are people lined up all the way back to the jewelry counter. You have families with buggies full of stuff, hipsters with one or two things, just the whole mix of people taking advantage of their local retail outlet. We navigate through and find a short(ish) line and we're surrounded by people buying every consumer good imaginable. It is just an economic stimulus paradise and we are almost to the front of the line.

Then, at that very moment when we realized that we were about to be free from Target, a New Jersey Meatball woman gets in line behind us. Others on here can probably relate to the type. Ugly blonde hair with her roots dyed brown, horrendously crappy sportswear to go with her horrendously crappy non-athletic body, and more make up than a Sephora regional warehouse. She sets down her Panasonic telephone and two maroon linen goods of some sort.

Now, I have pretty much gained a tolerance to new Jersey Meatballs ever since a flight from Tampa to Philly in which an entire herd of them were flying back from a wedding. Those people were fat, loud, obnoxious, and made we want to get picked up for air rage when they wouldn't shut up on the plane. The mother was having the best time ridiculing her atrociously overweight daughter about the latter's ill-advised attempt to pick up one of the catering staff at the reception. Ever since that flight, I can handle them in small doses.

When this woman gets in line and sets her stuff down, she feels led to comment on our purchase, not unlike I am doing here but in a more inappropriate fashion. The first thing she says, in that annoying New Jersey Meatball voice, is "Are you dying for cereal?" When we ignore her, because really what can you say to that, she makes it a point to speak more loudly and says "ARE YOU DYING FOR CEREAL?"

I have spent three days ruminating on this and other oddities, and I for the life of me cannot figure out what that means. Were we willing to brave a long line and a poorly staffed store to buy cereal? Well, we needed something to eat I suppose, but what business is it of yours? What did she think we would honestly say to that? "Yes maam, I am willing to give my one life which I may lead in order to procure a box of Oatmeal Raisin Crisp?" I wish in hindsight I had said that.

The fiance gives her a polite-but-annoyed-and-unsure-of-what-to-think smile and turns away from her and looks at me with a "What the Hell?" face. I normally am not one to shy away from sarcastic remarks but I have never been able to shake the feeling that all New Jersey Meatballs are in some way connected to Tony Soprano and I don't want to get knocked off before I leave, so I just bit my tongue. In what had to be the most awkward two minutes I have ever spent at a Target, we bought our goods and left.

Moral of the story: Are you dying for cereal?