First I met a friendly butcher. So friendly that he offered to get me a shopping basket while I perused the selection of chickens. So friendly that he even placed a special order for me for pick-up on Monday. I was there when he called it in, demanding the highest quality for a "special customer."
What was really weird about it though: I've been going to this Gristedes for years and never once laid eyes on a butcher. Ever! Was he simply a figment of my foodie imagination? Guess I'll find out on Monday.
But the freakiness didn't end at the butcher aisle. It continued at the checkout aisle, where Cheryl Lynn's classic disco tune Got To Be Real blasted from the speakers, inspiring a checkout cashier to start shimmying. The song got to me too. I was possessed. I started swaying. We synced up our dance moves. Whooping and gyrating commenced.
I'm home now. Shopping bags unpacked. And I still have a bit of groove in my step. Gristedes groove.
Who would have guessed it was possible?