Jessica's back

Saturday mornings I like to get up early, go get coffee, and then do my grocery shopping. The store is empty, I can roam at my own pace, and rarely do I have to do the grocery-aisle-shuffle:

Scoot to the side, let the other guy by. Scoot to the other side, let the other guy by. "After you." "No, after YOU!"

I was looking at the meat and had the cart parallel to the meat case. My purse was in the top front of the cart, where you would put your child.

I'm examining chicken breasts when I heard a gentleman say "Ma'am?" I turned to face a gray-haired man, normal-looking, with his own shopping cart.

"Yes?"

"You really shouldn't keep your purse in your shopping cart. Someone could just come walking by and take it."

As usual my brain was flooded with dozens of reactions in milliseconds, ranging from a dismissive "Thank you," to a mean "Shut up," to an inflammatory "You seem to know a lot about stealing purses, jerk!!!"

I chose to thank him and then turn my back to him. But he wouldn't be stopped.

"You should really carry your purse on your shoulder. You shouldn't let your purse be more than 1 foot from you at all times. Ma'am? Ma'am? I'm just trying to help you out, someone could come by and snatch your purse."

My fight or flight instincts always tell me to "flight" so I just continued to ignore him. After he walked away, though, I was all "fight." In my head. As I walked the aisles I replayed the scene in my head with all the witty things I SHOULD HAVE said or done. "If I see that guy again, I'm going to drop my purse in his cart and then start screaming that he stole purse." "If I see him again, I'm going to ask to see his Meijer Good Citizenship Badge."

Fate decided that I would get my second chance to hurl a witticism at him. As I was bagging everything, here came the man, walking towards me with his cart.

"Ma'am, I hate to have to tell you again but you're leaving your purse here in your cart."

Because I had prepared a dozen funny/cutting/perfectly scripted things to say back, I turned to him and said

"Thank you for your unsolicited advice!" and turned back to bag groceries. What are you doing??? Yell something funny at him!! I screamed in my head.

"I'm sorry but you really need to learn that people will steal your purse..."

"Thank you!!!" This time, I added a little sarcasm and a little exasperation.

He got the hint and walked away. Meanwhile, I began to contemplate the ramifications of notifying someone at Meijer that the elderly gentleman in the gray sweatsuit was harassing me. Again...I chose to "flight."

Fate must've been in a feisty mood that morning, because as I walked out the doors I saw the guy loading his bags into his car. Which was parked immediately next to my car. I slumped over the handlebars of my cart, not believing the odds. I chose "flight" for the last time that morning, standing in the vestibule until he had loaded up and driven away.

On the way home I called George and told him the truth: that I'd almost "thrown down" with an old guy at Meijer. I told him about the purse lecture and George just laughed and laughed. "You're ALWAYS yelling that I've moved the cart too far away from you. You watch your purse like a HAWK!"

I hope to see this guy again. I'll show him how I now wear my purse tied up around my neck.