February 6, 2025 by Amy
It’s actually NOT a misunderstanding
I ran to the grocery store the other day—my old store, not ALDI—to pick up just a few things that ALDI doesn’t carry. I grabbed one of the wee carts and start blasting around the perimeter, as I do. The one thing I really miss about this particular store is the music. I don’t even register what ALDI plays, if anything. The HVAC unit in there is so obnoxiously loud that the Pride of Troy could be blasting away in the meat section and we wouldn’t hear it. But the fancy store…they play good music.
I was singing along to Misunderstanding, one of my favorite Genesis songs, happy as a lark. I don’t sing loud, mind you. I’m not Mariah Carey. Or Phil Collins, as the case may be. I rounded the corner heading into dairy and barely noticed the store employee heading my way. As she neared I glanced at her to see a huge smile on her face.
“I’m singing it, too! It’s a great song! I could totally tell you’re singing it!”
Which is when it hit me.
I am old.
My mother used to sing along to the songs in the grocery store, mortifying me to no end. When did her music stop and mine start? I guess when GenX took over management, probably determining from a focus group that Metallica, AC/DC, and Alice Cooper probably weren’t ok but Phil Collins and even some minor Nirvana would do. Aerosmith? Bon Jovi? White Snake? Yep, they’re all softly crooning and encouraging us to go ahead and throw those Hostess Ding Dongs into the cart. Pick up the fancy cheese and the Cheetos. Get on wit’ your bad self and splurge on the artisanal bread.
I weakly smiled back at the woman and continued my shopping, debating whether I could even enjoy singing my beloved song any more. I slugged another gallon of distilled water for my CPAP into the cart, picked up a bottle of sleep aid and another of multivitamins, checked out the revolving stand of magnifying glasses since it appears I need to go up yet another level, and then headed for the checkout.
It occurs to that this is one of those times that could use some reframing. I’m not old…I’m seasoned. I’m a veteran of life with my wits about me, not a raw newbie still trying to figure it all out. I have arrived. Damn straight the supermarket is playing my music. They better…I’m paying the gashdamn bills. I’m doing the meal planning, the grocery shopping, and the cooking. I’m bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan. (Except not always because bacon is bad for our cholesterol and we have to watch that now.) The least they can do is drop some Genesis while I’m stocking up on low-fat ground turkey, oat milk, and avocados.
There must be some misunderstanding.
There must be some kind of mistake…
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