No Way They’re Random…

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Like many, I don’t particularly enjoy shopping – grocery, retail, hardware, or otherwise; I usually dash in and pluck the bare necessities from the shelves. Hell, I don’t even grab a cart or basket, simply as a means of limiting my shopping experience to my physical carrying capacity. Occasionally, however, shines a glimmer of light in an otherwise onerous obligation (how’s that for some alliteration?).

I’ve recently become a huge fan and frequenter of a brand spankin’ new salad bar installed at a local grocery store, conveniently located three blocks from work. My general lunch routine is to build the world’s most delicious salad (three kinds of lettuce, onions, tomato, bell peppers, banana peppers, raisins, celery slices, mushrooms, sunflower seeds, artichoke hearts, and, depending on my mood and the weather, fresh ground pepper) and sit in an adjacent park, consuming and basking in the midday sun. Nothing relieves stress quite like an afternoon outdoor lunch. Well, maybe a few things, but there’s no need for that here.

I have only two minor complaints about this otherwise perfect (and I do mean perfect) salad bar. First, in the quest for the almighty Clean, the employees frequently break down the entire salad bar, replace any wilted/aged veggies and fruits, thoroughly wash all containers, finally replacing all roughage once satisfied. The downside here is, of course, that should one be so unlucky to wander into the market at such a time, you’re simply out of luck. No salad for you today. In addition, the entire area becomes soaking wet and quite slippery.

My other grievance doesn’t have to do with the salad bar per se as it does with the bar’s general locale in the store. Directly adjacent to the veritable cornucopia of salad makings are two machines whose sole purpose is to fill giant jugs of water for people silly enough not to realize the high quality of Memphis’ drinking water; people bring in empty jugs, insert their dollars, and the machine dutifully dispenses “Crystal Clear Spring Water.” That these machines are tapped into the same pipes as my refrigerator at home and the entire business is a scam are two assumptions I feel fairly comfortable making.

Regardless, the owner of these machines has ceased to rely on merely statically marketing his virginal water and has instead installed hidden speakers somewhere either inside or behind the machines. As far as I can determine, these machines randomly roar to life, startling anyone unlucky enough to be in their general vicinity. And what sound do these machines trumpet as a means of gathering customers for its unadulterated, unsullied, vestal water? The first simply employs a recording of a roaring bear. A bear. Nothing makes me desire a cool, refreshing glass of water than the sounds of a huge, hulking, angry beast roaring at me unsuspectingly at a decibel level equivalent to that of a small jet. If anything, after that, I would need to make myself drier, not the other way around. The second machine is much more practical, though nonetheless still very startling, opting to blare the original recording of Singin’ in the Rain at customers. Now this marketing scheme I can at least understand.

But these two machines operate completely independently of each other, and, as far as I can tell, they burst into song (or growl) at random times. The possibility exists that they’re rigged with some sort of motion sensor, but I have my doubts; they’ve been silent with people moving about just as often as they’ve come alive. With such a set up, disaster isn’t a question of if but really a matter of when.

This afternoon, as I lightly drizzled dressing onto my heaping salad, I noticed a mother and her two boys, one riding in the cart and the other walking poutily several feet behind, sauntering my way. The mother, clearly exasperated with the child’s misbehavior, turned and snapped, demanding the boy return to her side, “or else”. Compliantly, he raced forward towards the rest of the family; the second he stepped foot in front (and I mean directly in front) of the water machines, however, he was treated to an ear splitting, terrifyingly loud grizzly bear; it was like the damn thing had become self aware, just waiting for poor souls to be as close as possible to its speaker before erupting. Absolutely shocked, the kid misstepped and, thanks to a recent salad bar cleaning, immediately slipped on the wet tile floor, meeting the ground with his forehead with a resounding thud.

No sooner had this kid’s head hit the floor, before his mother even had enough time to react and rush over, before the kid even had time enough to assess the massive amount of pain his forehead was signaling to his brain via a network of tiny nerves, than did I hear…..”Just siiiiingin’ in the raaaain, What a gloooooorious feelin’, I’m haaaaapy again!”

Who says the world has no sense of humor?

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