What a day, is right. There were hardly any coupons, just one for an ice-cream sauce with taste-alike cherry pieces and chocolate sprinkles. I’ve had that before. And some blue-looking stuff to clean your carpet, but I don’t have a carpet, just linoleum tile, and a coupon for some of that fancy printed toilet paper; the plain kind is good enough for me.
Every week I look at the newspaper and separate my coupons into piles. I’ve got a free pile, a save pile for when I have more money like when they say twenty-five percent or fifty cents off, and an everything else like a hummingbird feeder or a commemorative plate, but you have to send away money for those. And then I take my piles and organize them alphabetically: “C” for all the cereal coupons like Froot Loops, Cheerios, Strawberry Squares, All-Bran; you know what I mean because whenever I go shopping, I carry my coupons in these same piles with a rubber band around each one. I take my time, because saving money is something I need to take my time with if I’m going to do it right. So I go up and down the aisles stopping to match each one of my coupons with its box because I’m the type of person who likes to try new things. Some of my friends, they’ve stuck with the same brand for years. Why does it have to be one brand your entire life just because your mother used Lysol to clean her toilet bowl? I tell ‘em that, but it doesn’t do no good. I used to carry my coupons with a rubber band around each one. But Becky, that’s my niece who comes down from Sacramento every Christmas, bought me a genuine leather purse with three pockets, which is real handy to have on a shopping trip. And when I’m finished, Mildred, that’s the cashier, who’s been working at the SaveMart around the corner as long as I’ve been collecting social security, says to me, “O.K., Gracie. What do you have today?” Then I pull out each one of my coupons and put ‘em on the counter.
Yesterday I went to Drug King with a few coupons I’ve been saving; some Wilderness pie filling, yes, I’m going to make a two-crust. And a coupon for small cans of albacore tuna that are great for lunches because I hate opening a can and letting it sit in the refrigerator. It gets that tinny taste; you know what I mean? Same thing as those cans of tomato paste where you need a tablespoon or so and what gets left over gets thrown into the garbage. Now I know what you’re thinking: I’m wasteful, right? Well, I tried saving the extra tomato paste, putting it in a container and all that, but it was a couple of months before I even looked at it again and by that time, I really didn’t want to look at it. Never figured out what to do with my extra tomato paste. Amalia who lives next door, freezes hers in the ice-cube tray and then puts them in her Bloody Marys. Not a bad idea, ‘cept I don’t drink anymore.
So I was at the Drug King with coupons for everything I was going to get and started to size up the cashiers for a person who knew how to do the job right, not one of those kids in training pants, picked out a girl in corn rows who knew her business, pleasant but without asking a half-dozen times for a price check. I waited my turn to buy a lottery ticket along with the rest of my stuff, when fizz bop bam, the seltzer bottle from the person in front of me pops open; it wasn’t even on sale, some kind of faulty merchandise, and the whole counter gets wet with bubbles. That’s when the manager comes by with a “Closed” sign.
“Young man,” I say. “I’ve been waiting in line longer than you’ve been living.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve got to clean this up.”
So this man standing behind me takes my cart and wheels it away, saying, “C’mon, follow me.” We land at the next counter, number three, between the Enquirersand the Trident sugarless gum. My hands are shaking so hard it was hard to pick up my stuff and load it back on the counter. Then the man I told you about does a slow bow and says, “Excuse me, may I be of assistance?” My female parts stood up and took notice. He puts everything on the counter with the cans price side up to make it easier for the cashier, so don’t you think it the least I could do was to invite him to come by the next day?
I planned to bake a cherry pie and said to him after I was standing and waiting for him with my bag of groceries, “Mr. Line Finder, how would you like to have a slice of home-made pie?” He looked like such a snack pack with a green vest and a grey mustache. Then he said, “I don’t know where you live, Miss.” Wasn’t that sweet? So I said, “If you have a pencil, I can write down my address on the back of this shopping list, if you don’t mind.” I asked his name and he said he was George, the Mayor of Fruitvale Avenue. He told me I reminded him of his best friend, Arnie’s sister, except she couldn’t tell a bargain from a mark-up.
I ha, ha, ha’ed. And that was a good thing, too, because he had such a sad face. And then we said bye-bye, so long, see you tomorrow. And I wheeled my shopping cart to the end of the parking lot and took the rest of my coupons home.