No More Mister Nice Guy, or What Do You Do with Japanese Eggplants Anyway?

Craig is a happy guy. A good guy, a kind guy. An everybody-likes-him guy. Kind and caring, listens when you talk. A give you the shirt off his back guy.
Which evidently he has done because Craig is now wandering around the grocery store shirtless, in brand new lime green sneakers, complaining to anyone within earshot that today is the day.
No more Mister Nice Guy.
He's brandishing a japanese eggplant, which in itself is weird seeing as Craig's not a nightshade guy, per se.
In the crook of his other elbow is his basket, overflowing with paper towel paper and bananas, a jar of olives, two limes and a kiwi, a rotisserie chicken, side of potato salad, purple Gatorade, and 2 packages of mini Mars bars.

It's day 187 of lockdown and evidently Craig's had enough.
His job disappeared day one so the first 4 and a half months were spent volunteering, distributing PPE to frontline workers. Then onto baking Bavarian soft pretzels and curating five types of spicy mustard dips.
Which led to building a multi tiered deck off the back addition and refurbishing the old Weber, the one thing he fought for in the divorce.  Re sodded the front lawn. Logged a total of 6392 kms zigzagging across the province just to help people out.

Sober thirteen years, his obsession with Kombucha has hit peak isolation brain.
He's partially fermented.
Still dry, but edibles are taking over. Nothing fills the void.

Astrid reaches for the intercom, stepping back from her plexiglass shield. "Security, aisle 4. Security, aisle 4".

Craig takes a knee, resting his elbow across his thigh and drops the eggplant into his cart.
He shakes his head, mumbling to himself. Something about things are pouring over or this is a lawnmower- Astrid's too far away to make it out clearly.
Craig sighs and pushes himself up to full stature, his new lime kicks scuffed from kneeling.
Calvin,  all 6'4"  of him, in a mask and gloves, instructs Craig to gather his cart and line up, maintaining social distance, or leave it all where it is and exit the store.

Seven months ago Craig would be driving to work in a blue suit and tie, hair cut short, brown broques shined high. Well loved, well liked, deeply appreciated.
He drops his head, and pulls his charity t shirt from the bottom of his basket, slowly manoeuvring it over his head. Hauls his mask from his back pocket and loops it over his ears.
Day 187 goes on.

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