An old woman at the food bank threatened to beat me up after I dared move ahead of her in line. Belle and I had been handed number ninety-five after arriving late. A friend, a recent divorcee who has raised six children, gave us her number twenty-five. She had a more pressing engagement and couldn't wait (Everyone seemed to be running late!) any longer. Our friend also doesn't benefit much from this food bank's offerings anyway, skipping over breads and desserts, etc. I thanked her kindly for her gift of a lower number and wished her well on her upcoming job interview. I then walked Belle over to a pair of casual acquaintances, including an eccentric old woman. When I mentioned going from ninety-five to twenty-five, the old woman threatened to beat me up in public as I held a nursing child. What the fuck?
What foods nearly cost me my hide: 6 bananas, including 3 ripe, 1 apple, 1 organic lemon, 5 pears, 12 new potatoes (creamer's?), 3 red onions, 1 bunch parsley, 1 carton of lite eggnog, 1 yogurt, 6 brown eggs, 1 chickpea salad, 3 donuts, 9 red velvet muffins and assorted breads. Threaten to beat my ass over steak and lobster, not chickpeas, okay?
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