Stinky Fish

I had a little bit of a Truman Show incident this evening. What I mean by this is that I had an encounter that made me feel a bit as if I'm a pawn acting in something staged. It was a funny feeling.

Here's what happened. I went to the Safeway tonight, which is about a quarter mile from my house. I went to buy milk and cream for a quiche I'm planning to make because my mom is planning to visit and I am going to have to feed her. This usually brings out my creative culinary side, perhaps to my mother's chagrin. But anyhow, I planned to buy milk, cream, something to eat for dinner tonight, and some fruit for snacking. The milk and cream were simple. The fruit was also a straightforward choice, since seedless black grapes were on sale for a dollar a pound, and you can't beat that, even if grapes do make you terribly sick to your stomach every other time you eat them. They're too yummy to pass up, and if they wind up being like an instant trip to a third world country where you shouldn't have drunk the water, then you get free virtual travel to boot.

For dinner, I went to the fish department, trying to be virtuous. Catfish was on sale, and I love catfish, so I decided to take a couple home and pan fry them, which is a technique I don't have the hang of. (Of which I don't have the hang?) I thought it would be good: a quick, healthy meal and some cooking practice rolled into one.

So I made my purchases and trundled home. I washed the grapes, chowed some down, could already tell they weren't going to sit well, and checked my email. After about half an hour, I headed over to start the fish. I began to heat my cast iron skillet, set out some flour in a bowl for dredging, and then opened the plastic-wrapped fish to wash it. STINKY!! Stinky fish! Baaaaad, stinky fish!

That was the end of the Fish Dinner Plan. Pan fire off. Flour back in the bin. Fish back in the bag. Shoes on the feet. Fish and woman in the car. Fish and woman and car returned to the Safeway.

This is the Truman Show part. I walked in with the fish and went to the customer service counter. The woman behind the counter was standing, but she was leaning so heavily on the counter that she looked quite relaxed, and indeed, she greeted me with good cheer, as if perhaps I was joining her for a beer. I explained that I had just bought this fish half an hour ago, and it was clearly spoiled, and I would like to return it. And she said:

"I know."

You what? How could you know? Or you knew, and you just let me buy that stinky fish anyhow? You still have it for sale when you know it's rotten? You knew I'd be back? You've been leaning here waiting for me? Am I the hapless nerd who buys the stinky fish? Am I on film?

So I said, kind of dumbfounded, "You know?"

She said, "Oh, yeah, uh-huh, I know. I saw you in here with your little basket."

Now, first of all, I object to the "little basket" remark. The basket is not little. It's exactly the same size basket as anyone else uses who wanders into the Safeway and picks up the baskets they offer for shoppers who don't want a whole cart. No, the basket is fine. It's me. I'm a giant. I make the basket look small. But you don't have to go commenting on it, especially not with a knowing smile on your face because you were in on the planning behind the Return of the Stinky Fish episode.

Okay, I'm not a giant. I'm pretty tall, over six feet tall, and usually people comment on that, so I'm probably a little paranoid. But still. Little basket. Sheesh.

And something else dawns on me. She is not, I realize belatedly, trying to tell me that she knew the fish was bad. Nor, I think, is she trying to tell me that she knew I purchased fish. I think she was merely saying that she knows I was in the Safeway half an hour ago buying things. And yes, she probably does know that because it happened right in front of her and I am, in fact, noticably tall.

So I don't think I'm on the Truman Show after all.

The woman gave me much more change than I deserved for the fish, and when I commented on that, she explained that if a customer is dissatisfied with a sale item, they refund, not the sale price, but the original price. I thought this was awfully generous, but I pointed out to her that, if she was smart, she'd get rid of the rest of the catfish before I could buy it and make a handsome profit returning it. She laughed at my funny joke, which just shows you what she knows.

I can fit a lot of stinky fish into one of those little baskets.