Editor’s Note: Today I will be introducing the first of several recurring segments. The first one is probably going to be the most common. I will relate a story that happened to me with the idea in mind that people really need to hear it. I'm sure you see where I am going with this. I'm going to sound like a hipster. Only this time, the subject matter and perspective from which it is written will be from somebody that considers himself part of society.
There are some times in life when I just feel like a man. When I look down and examine what I am doing at that moment, I feel like I’ve earned the pair of nuts that swing betwixt my legs.* This doesn’t happen often mind you, but it happened yesterday and it just felt right. It always feels good when I have one of my ‘man moments’ but this one felt better than usual. Bill Gates is well aware of the fact he is rich but when he hears he is worth more than the GDP of the Dominican Republic, he probably goes, “Wow, I’m rich.” This is one of those moments.
*Some nuts dangle and some nuts swing. Mine are of the swinging genus.
The weather the past few days has been in the 80s and sunny. So it was the first really nice day of the year. With the nice weather comes my favorite part of summer: grilling. With that in mind, I went over to my local Jewel-Osco (your standard Midwest supermarket) to get some hamburger buns for the dozen sirloin burgers I recently acquired.
Sidebar: Why do grocery stores have such weird names? If you didn't know Jewel-Osco was a grocery store chain you would have no idea what it was when you heard the name. Whatever you told me Jewel-Osco was I would believe it. Grocery store? Sounds good. Dry cleaners? That works. Poor sap who has this name because his mom is a crazy feminist? Sure enough. If you think someone named Braden Jewel-Osco isn't going to get the shit kicked out of him at school, you're crazy. You would think grocery stores, and really everything, should give the consumer an idea about what that business provides. Safeway, Giant, Albertson's, Publix, Meijer, Dominick's - all grocery store chains but you'd never know it by just the name. But when these places start getting named Valu-Foods or Grub and Stuff no one wants to shop there. Call me old-fashioned but I'll get my oil changed at Jiffy Lube and my groceries from Meijer. This is the first instance where having a somewhat misleading name is a good thing. It's also reason #48 why I don't shop at Whole Foods.
*Some nuts dangle and some nuts swing. Mine are of the swinging genus.
The weather the past few days has been in the 80s and sunny. So it was the first really nice day of the year. With the nice weather comes my favorite part of summer: grilling. With that in mind, I went over to my local Jewel-Osco (your standard Midwest supermarket) to get some hamburger buns for the dozen sirloin burgers I recently acquired.
Sidebar: Why do grocery stores have such weird names? If you didn't know Jewel-Osco was a grocery store chain you would have no idea what it was when you heard the name. Whatever you told me Jewel-Osco was I would believe it. Grocery store? Sounds good. Dry cleaners? That works. Poor sap who has this name because his mom is a crazy feminist? Sure enough. If you think someone named Braden Jewel-Osco isn't going to get the shit kicked out of him at school, you're crazy. You would think grocery stores, and really everything, should give the consumer an idea about what that business provides. Safeway, Giant, Albertson's, Publix, Meijer, Dominick's - all grocery store chains but you'd never know it by just the name. But when these places start getting named Valu-Foods or Grub and Stuff no one wants to shop there. Call me old-fashioned but I'll get my oil changed at Jiffy Lube and my groceries from Meijer. This is the first instance where having a somewhat misleading name is a good thing. It's also reason #48 why I don't shop at Whole Foods.
Although I only needed the buns, I thought I would pick up a few things so I wouldn't have to come back a few days later. By the way, I shop the way you should. I start at one end of the store and weave up and down the aisles towards the other end of the store. If you don't shop this way, you won't get this next part. When I grocery shop, you have several encounters with people in the same cycle as you. You walk past each other in one aisle, then you go onto the next and walk past each other again and so on. (By the way, this is a great way to check out the ladies. Unfortunately, not a lot of females I would call 'lookers' spend a lot of time in the Pop-Tarts and Bagel Bites section. This is another reason why I can't pick up chicks at the grocery store: I'm not smooth enough, and they aren't drunk enough, to overcome my 3 boxes of Fruity Pebbles and quiver of burritos.)
I had gotten into a cycle with two middle-aged Italian gentlemen that appeared to be brothers. Every time I passed them in an aisle, they were arguing over something and waving their hands like any good depiction of older Italian males you see in the media. When we got to the bread aisle, I was looking for normal hamburger buns. Just whatever was on sale so I didn't need to eat my burgers on bread. I picked out my Jewel brand buns and felt a hand knock them out of my grip. This is roughly the exchange I had with the gentleman I will call Giuseppe. Feel free to give my shopping buddy a thick Mario-like accent because, well, he had one.
G: You grilling burgers? You don't want a-those. The bread is important. These won't do.
Me: Yeah, I was just looking for something on sale so I didn't have to use bread...
G: No, no. Take these. Just like my mother used to make.
He handed me a bag of 8 artisan kaiser rolls that were roughly 2.4 times as expensive as my basic buns. I thanked him and put the rolls in my cart and went about my business. I didn't really want the better kaiser rolls but that wasn't the point. This gentleman obviously was passionate about grilling and food and he wanted to pass it on. We passed each other a few more times with each passing he told me how much I was going to like the rolls. When I got over to the meat department, I obviously didn't need anything but I wanted to at least look like I was looking. I do this every time I'm in a grocery store. Looking at piles of red meat packaged with saran wrap and Styrofoam just puts hair on my chest. Not long after I arrived so did Mario and Luigi. And of course I was looking at the wrong meat. They told me how ground beef wouldn't do and picked out some nice brisket for me. (I'm sure a nice brisket sammich on one of those kaiser rolls in the hands of the right person would be amazing. But I'm not that person. I didn't have the heart to tell them I would be grilling on a frying pan fueled by a gas stove, in a studio apartment a few blocks from Chicago's gay district.)
But I couldn't not accept the brisket; these guys were awesome. I felt like they saw the potential in me and didn't want to see it go to waste. Still wanting to converse with them, I asked how one cooks brisket. So I got a detailed story about how he gets up early in the morning and starts the slow cooking process and doesn't eat until late that night or sometimes the next day. So I said I would try that, put the brisket in my cart and went to check out. I did a few laps and circled back to the meat department and dropped the brisket off. I was never going to get it but I couldn't let these guys know that. A) I already had some respectable sirloin burgers waiting at home and B) I don't know a lot of single guys living alone that cook meat for 12 hours. Now if we're talking about beating my meat for 12 hours a day, well then, I might be singing a different tune. You will soon find my ability to shoehorn a masturbation joke into any topic is matched by few. I paid for my groceries and started walking home when suddenly a huge smile lit up my face. It was one of those smiles that couldn't be suppressed if I wanted to. The kind that get new recruits in trouble with the drill sergeant at basic training.
Sgt. Hulka: Whatchu smiling at boy?
Me: Nothing sir!
Sgt. Hulka: Boy wipe that smile off your face before I stick my boot up your ass!
If this were the case, my colon would have looked like the interior of a Porsche Cayenne. Why was I so happy? Grilling is one of the manliest things you can do. It goes back to the reptilian, cave-man part of our brains where our instinct is to kill something, and roast it on a spit over a fire. I think I will have finally paid off the mortgage on my nuts when I have my first cookout at my home in the suburbs. The closing papers will be signed when I'm talking with a fellow manager buddy of mine, beer in hand, commenting about the Lions' weak secondary, and staring at the flames slowly cooking my man-meat.
I had gotten into a cycle with two middle-aged Italian gentlemen that appeared to be brothers. Every time I passed them in an aisle, they were arguing over something and waving their hands like any good depiction of older Italian males you see in the media. When we got to the bread aisle, I was looking for normal hamburger buns. Just whatever was on sale so I didn't need to eat my burgers on bread. I picked out my Jewel brand buns and felt a hand knock them out of my grip. This is roughly the exchange I had with the gentleman I will call Giuseppe. Feel free to give my shopping buddy a thick Mario-like accent because, well, he had one.
G: You grilling burgers? You don't want a-those. The bread is important. These won't do.
Me: Yeah, I was just looking for something on sale so I didn't have to use bread...
G: No, no. Take these. Just like my mother used to make.
He handed me a bag of 8 artisan kaiser rolls that were roughly 2.4 times as expensive as my basic buns. I thanked him and put the rolls in my cart and went about my business. I didn't really want the better kaiser rolls but that wasn't the point. This gentleman obviously was passionate about grilling and food and he wanted to pass it on. We passed each other a few more times with each passing he told me how much I was going to like the rolls. When I got over to the meat department, I obviously didn't need anything but I wanted to at least look like I was looking. I do this every time I'm in a grocery store. Looking at piles of red meat packaged with saran wrap and Styrofoam just puts hair on my chest. Not long after I arrived so did Mario and Luigi. And of course I was looking at the wrong meat. They told me how ground beef wouldn't do and picked out some nice brisket for me. (I'm sure a nice brisket sammich on one of those kaiser rolls in the hands of the right person would be amazing. But I'm not that person. I didn't have the heart to tell them I would be grilling on a frying pan fueled by a gas stove, in a studio apartment a few blocks from Chicago's gay district.)
But I couldn't not accept the brisket; these guys were awesome. I felt like they saw the potential in me and didn't want to see it go to waste. Still wanting to converse with them, I asked how one cooks brisket. So I got a detailed story about how he gets up early in the morning and starts the slow cooking process and doesn't eat until late that night or sometimes the next day. So I said I would try that, put the brisket in my cart and went to check out. I did a few laps and circled back to the meat department and dropped the brisket off. I was never going to get it but I couldn't let these guys know that. A) I already had some respectable sirloin burgers waiting at home and B) I don't know a lot of single guys living alone that cook meat for 12 hours. Now if we're talking about beating my meat for 12 hours a day, well then, I might be singing a different tune. You will soon find my ability to shoehorn a masturbation joke into any topic is matched by few. I paid for my groceries and started walking home when suddenly a huge smile lit up my face. It was one of those smiles that couldn't be suppressed if I wanted to. The kind that get new recruits in trouble with the drill sergeant at basic training.
Sgt. Hulka: Whatchu smiling at boy?
Me: Nothing sir!
Sgt. Hulka: Boy wipe that smile off your face before I stick my boot up your ass!
If this were the case, my colon would have looked like the interior of a Porsche Cayenne. Why was I so happy? Grilling is one of the manliest things you can do. It goes back to the reptilian, cave-man part of our brains where our instinct is to kill something, and roast it on a spit over a fire. I think I will have finally paid off the mortgage on my nuts when I have my first cookout at my home in the suburbs. The closing papers will be signed when I'm talking with a fellow manager buddy of mine, beer in hand, commenting about the Lions' weak secondary, and staring at the flames slowly cooking my man-meat.
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