Shopping for Values

              The day after thanksgiving Jess tells me we're going "shopping for values." Meat values. So, we go to the big white trash grocery store across town at eight a.m., you have to go early to get the deals on the stuff left over from the day before. We look at some vegetables on the way down the aisle to the meat department, pick up some oranges and squash, some mustard and a big box of fresh croissants.
       
              We get to the meat department, no one is there shopping which seems suspicious to me because, since everyone is looking for a deal; where is the angry mob?
    
             There's a guy that works there putting meat on the shelves so I go ask him where the cheap meat is. "It depends on what kind you mean," he says. I'm a wise ass, everyone knows this that knows me, anything can set me off.  But he doesn't know, so it's fun time for me." I want frozen kangaroo haunch. Fresh goat. Bones for my gorillas. Where is it?"
            
             "We don't have any of that. We never have, we never will either, I don't think. You want a specialty store for those. Maybe in Oakland or San Francisco?"   " You're a helpful man, aren't you? I heard different, are you hoarding it for yourself and your friends? That would be unethical, maybe illegal, which one's the manager, I want to look in the back.""
         
             Jess was watching  from over by the chicken bin. She saw the look on the guy's face and slid over and took my arm. "We were looking for the red tag special meat, the overstock from thanksgiving?"
     
          "It's all gone. I think it is anyway. We open at seven, you see? We wouldn't have any of the kinds he wants anyway." It's a challenge!  I  grab and open up the box of croissants, I love the things, I was tired of waiting for one, I can't get enough of them. While I'm chewing one up, I'm looking the guy over. He doesn't like me, I'm sure of it.
     
          Jess is ready to go and he's ready for us to leave, too. I'm outnumbered two to one. I am not going to struggle with it, Jess and I mean too much to me for that. She whispers to me under her breath,            
     
            " Don't say anything else, you motherfucker. I come in here a lot. Lets go." She had me go wait in the car, again, while she paid for the uncontested items in the cart. I was disappointed yet consoled because I knew she'd get the rest of the buttery little french pastries to me and I had my friends the dogs and some hot tea in there and a Mazzy Star cd to listen to. I did not smoke.
             
              We got a couple of good deals at another place down the road and had a nice roast last night, mashed potatoes, gravy, a screamin' salad and then peppermint ice cream with hot fudge sauce. I win again. That's how it is sometimes if you're a  shopping motherfucker.