Picking up the turkey in Cambridge, I grabbed a few other things. Oranges. Brussels sprouts. Some bread. The guy bagging my groceries insists on splitting them between two bags, though theyd easily fit in one. Hes worried about “balance,” he says, and keeps up a mumbled monologue about how hes balanced, and balance is important, and the world would be a better place if it were balanced the way he is. He says I should be balanced, too. His demeanor suggests to me that at some point his relationship with modern chemistry was intensely recreational. I nod, and dont argue, and, since my left arm is suffering the after-affects of a fat-needled flu shot, pick up both bags with my right hand. He glares. Almost disbelief. I turn to leave. Behind me, the man becomes increasingly unhinged as I retreat, warning me that I need to use both hands to be balanced, condemning me to a “bad back and twisted spirit” if I dont balance my groceries, as I reach the door almost shouting that “everybody, EVERYBODY, needs to be BALANCED JUST LIKE ME. We all NEED to be!”
Posted on: Tue, 25 Nov 2014 18:37:03 +0000
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