I’m at the salad bar of my local grocery store grabbing lunch before the onslaught of preschool pickup, and while this particular salad bar is deliciously more than just salad, the place is fraught with danger.

The other day, I encountered OLD MAN YELLING.

{squiggly flashback lines}

I sit down to blog and eat.

Old man: WHAT’S THAT?

I look down at my countertop: laptop, iPhone, plastic salad to-go container.  I look at his table: newspaper, plastic salad to-go container.  So I’ve it narrowed down to TECHNOLOGY.

Me: My phone? and I wave my iPhone like a flag of surrender to my elders.

Old man: THAT’S A PHONE? WHAT DOES IT DO?

Me: Well, you can use it as a phone (I think), but mostly I use it to access the Internet or find my car in parking lots.

Old man brightens up at the thought of taming mall parking lots and wanders over to me.  Although once he notices that he couldn’t read a single tiny word on my iPhone, he moves on to my computer.

Old man: WHAT KIND OF COMPUTER IS THAT?

Me: An Apple.  It’s by the same company that made my phone.

And on and on the yelling went. We covered my age, my marriage, my education, my kids, my aspirations, my money situation.  And by “we”, I mean the entire grocery store.

However, on this day, my problems arise before I even have food.  I reach for my salad bar container and file behind Salad Bar Aficionado, which is no big deal since her sheer willpower at forcing so many items to be in one giant mound is enjoyable.

The problem was behind me.  As in too close behind me.

That’s right, the woman next in line is a TOO CLOSE IN LINE-ER. {shudder}

Now, I’m not against touching, but I’m awkward with hugs at best.  And when it comes to the general public, I like to picture a bubble around me. And as I’ve explained on many a college night when faced with the Pelvic Dance Club-ers, this bubble has a radius of at least a foot.

My first stop is lettuce. And Too Close In Line-er stops at the lettuce.  Except there was NO ROOM FOR HER AND THE LETTUCE AND MY BUBBLE. I couldn’t even pick through the lettuce like I usually do when faced with paying for my food by the pound. I was forced to keep brown lettuce AND PAY FOR IT.

I pick up the pace. I grab at the cucumbers while she’s still at the lettuce hoping for enough time to tong some broccoli, but suddenly, she’s shoulder-to-shoulder before I could say: Ooh, edamame!

I take a stand at my favorite vegetable, but she was too powerful with her standing so closeness.

I am forced to sprint ahead to the potato salad only to be held up by Salad Bar Aficionado balancing a second scoop of chicken salad on her tower of deliciousness.  Afraid to turn around, I hear Too Close In Line-er sigh, and I know my days of mozzarella and tomato salad are numbered.

But the salad bar gods interceded.  While the Aficionado and I enjoy indulging in the pasta section, Too Close moves right on to the fruit.  SHE CUT THE SALAD BAR LINE.  But I don’t even care.

Because I am free… to scoop as many croutons as I want, that is.

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