Sunday
Revised. Original post date: June 6, 2008
Today I drove to my neighborhood Vons. I bought a half gallon of orange juice, a gallon of drinking water and four cans of garbanzo beans. I love garbanzo beans. The bill came to eight dollars and seventy-seven cents. My hair was undone, I wore no make-up, I looked a mess. The plan was to grab a few things and be on my way.
Manning the express lane was Supermarket Checkout King, a chirpy, older gentleman in an unfortunate and unkempt toupee. As a general practice, I tend to avoid Supermarket Checkout King. Call me a curmudgeon. I just find all this manufactured “customer service” annoying and inconsiderate. Haven’t you ever just wanted to conduct a transaction without all that superfluous gushiness? But Supermarket Checkout King’s line was shorter, so…
“Would you like to make a donation to…?” some charity, he said melodiously in his usual shrill and scratchy monotone. ”I can’t afford it,” I said as I swiped my Vons card, then peeled off two crisp fives.
“Oooohh.., Ok Miss Moodz, you saved two dollars. Oooo… hooo…” He squealed quietly, almost as if to himself as he handed me my receipt and all this other stuff that you toss as soon as you’re out the door.
“Okay, Miss Moodz, would you be needing some help out with your bags there, Miss Moodz?” Now let’s see… I had a gallon jug of water and two plastic bags. I think I could manage. And, yes, he said my name twice. All I wanted to do was pay for my stuff, not play twenty questions with Supermarket Checkout King. I put the change in the deli container on the counter for the charity.
I walked out to my car and unlocked the door with my key. I leaned in and put the key in the ignition, pressed the unlock button and then turned to open the driver’s side rear door so I could put my water and bags in the back seat. I heard a faint yet tentative click just as I pulled up on the latch. Locked. Had I not unlocked the doors like I thought? (Inner speech).
I walked to the rear double doors. Locked. I checked both doors on the right side of the vehicle. Locked. Yes. It was official. I was locked out of my car in the parking lot of my neighborhood Vons. I had a fleeting meltdown. “It didn’t come to last, it’s come to pass,” I reassured myself (inner speech). ”Now breathe…”
I went back into the store to ask for help. A young checkout guy piped up and said “Oh, I can get it open for you. I do this all the time.” I felt relieved. He goes away for a time and then reappears with a wire hanger. No… Wire… Hangers. EVER!!* I was fucked. I sent him away to call the police. Exit Vanilla Ice Ice Baby.
Just then, all of a sudden, a black SUV, rap a-thumpin’, and with those not-supposed-to-go-flat wheels with shiny chrome rims rolled into the space near mine.
“Do you have a universal tool?” I asked.
“You mean a slim-jim?” Thin Young Thing asked in reply.
“Ok.” I said. Whatever (inner speech). He didn’t have a universal tool or a slim jim, but since Vanilla Ice Ice Baby never returned, Thin Young Thing offered to look up the non-emergency number for the police. Because this trip to Vons was supposed to be in and out, I also didn’t have my phone with me. Thin Young Thing volunteered to drive me to my house. I grabbed my phone, then we drove back to the parking lot of my neighborhood Vons.
Thank you, Thin Young Thing. You went out of your way to help a perfect stranger. I will never forget the generous display of goodwill you directed towards me today and I say “Right back at ‘cha, TYT!” Thank you.
At first I called the police non emergency number. Busy. Busy. Busy. Thin Young Thing even drove to the library nearby to find the Sherriff who has an office there. Office closed. In the meantime I called my car service and discovered to my horror I was no longer enrolled in Cingular’s roadside assistance service. Seems when I got my iPhone in December, AT&T did not transfer the roadside assistance service I had as a customer with Cingular and for three years.
Quickly recovering my senses, I called my friend, Peter, who called a locksmith, 
who arrived within the half hour and in no time, (literally seconds I tell you), the door was open and I had my keys in hand. And the best part: No superfluous happy chatter. I like that.
“Forty-nine dollars,” pleasant, smiling Locksmith said with a distinctive sub-Saharan accent. (Sigh) Cie la vie. What’s the use in crying?
Forty-nine dollars. Who knew a gallon of drinking water, a half-gallon of OJ and four cans of garbanzo beans would turn out to be so expensive.
When you’re down and troubled
And you need a helping hand
And nothing, whoa nothing is going right.
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest nights.
You just call out my name,
And you know where ever I am
I’ll come running, oh yeah baby
To see you again.
Winter, spring, summer, or fall,
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.
You’ve got a friend.
If the sky above you
Should turn dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind should begin to blow
Keep your head together and call my name out loud
And soon I will be knocking upon your door.
You just call out my name and you know where ever I am
I’ll come running to see you again.
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you got to do is call
And Ill be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Ain’ it good to know that you’ve got a friend
When people could be so cold
They’ll hurt you, and desert you
They’ll take your soul if you let them
Aw, but don’t you let them
You just call out my name and you know where ever I am
I’ll come running, running, running to see you again.
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you got to do is call
And I’ll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.
You’ve got a friend
Ain’ it good to know you’ve got a friend
Ain’ it good to know you’ve got a friend
Aw, yeah, yeah. You’ve got a friend.
Written by Carole King and James Taylor
performed by Donny Hathaway
*Mommie Dearest/Faye Dunaway 
