Yesterday I stopped by my local Indian grocery store on the way home from work.  I’m making Thanksgiving dinner this Friday and, especially since Simon is out of town, I’ve set up a plan to pick up groceries after work everyday this week instead of being overwhelmed with a huge shopping trip on Thursday.

I gathered as many groceries as I could carry in one trip (like a dozen gigantic potatoes for under $2!), and was in the process of checking out.  The checkout girl was scanning my items when an Indian woman walked up to the belt, shouted at her child, and put two giant packs of heavy-duty, for-overnight-use maxi pads right in the middle of all my items on the belt.

She then stared impatiently at the checkout girl for a minute, seemingly pissed that she wasn’t scanning her big-ol pads RIGHT THEN.  The woman then screamed at her child (again) and disappeared for a minute.  When she returned, she had a small, whole, raw chicken wrapped in plastic wrap on a piece of styrofoam.  The chicken’s neck and head were still intact.

I laughed (silently, in my head).  I think it’s funny to see someone in an implied period-emergency run off to grab a whole, raw, head-on chicken.  Why is it funny?  I don’t know.

I paid using my debit card.  When the pad-purchaser realized that she’d have to wait another several seconds! for me to pay, she angrily grabbed her pads and chicken and walked around to the (only) other checkout line.

She then muttered under her breath and pointed at me and stared straight at me.  I stared straight back, right into her angry eyes.  She didn’t look away, and I didn’t look away.

Like a game of chicken.  Which, I think I won.

PMS has no cultural boundaries I guess.