Entrails and Parking Lot Escapades

I seem to live at Wal Mart, but this weekend I branched out and visited two different stores.  Yeah, I know, wild times around here.  Oh, but you do not know what awaits you in this post.

Store #1: Saraga International Grocery

In an effort to have the best first Father’s Day EVER I went to the international grocery store on Saturday to purchase a small package of goat to grill that night for my African husband.

Don’t flip out. It’s actually pretty good.

And as international groceries go, this store is decent.  It’s large, has a huge selection of goods, and is clean.  I’ve been in some where you have to set your silly American notions of food safety aside.  This is not that store.

That being said, I really wasn’t prepared for what I found in the meat case.

First, they had nice orderly wrapped packages of whole fish, heads and all.  Hmm…not so bad.  Seen that before, both in my oven and on my husband’s dinner plate.

The next case held small packages of goat and lamb meat.  Perfect, I’ll have one of each.

I should have walked away, but I’m stupid like that.  Next, there were nicely arranged packages of beef heart and tongue.  Still not anything that is my favorite, but my grandparents were farmers.  I have lifted a pot lid or two in my lifetime to find a tongue boiling away in there.  For the record, I hated tongue.  Ever have a tongue sandwich?  With ketchup? Yeah, I didn’t think so.  Count your blessings.

Still, I didn’t walk away, and oh, how I should have.  In the next part of the case – a HUGE package.  I couldn’t figure out what piece of beef could be that large.

It was neatly labeled: “Cow’s Head.”

That’s right.  Once I knew what it was, I could see where its eyes used to be, and they were looking right at me.  Accusingly. I averted my eyes and they ran smack dab into a package of beef intestines. Words simply fail to describe what those looked like.

At that point, not willing to play “what’s in case #3,”  I exited the meat department and located a Hispanic worker whose unlucky day it was to try to tell me where the Maggi cubes were located.

I only regret that I forgot my digital camera in the car, because you know I would so share these pictures with you.

Store #2: Super Target

This was going to be a quick and easy trip – just hop in and pick up pictures and out.  No problem.

I opened the car door and heard a “skittering” noise, for lack of a better description.  I’ve heard this noise before.

It’s the sound of a cell phone as it falls out of a pocket, onto the asphalt, and under the adjacent Toyota Corolla.

I checked and the phone was not visible on either side of the Toyota.

I got down on my knees, with my butt up in the air, of course, and looked under the Toyota.  My beloved pink phone was exactly halfway under the car.  Not easily accessible from either side.

I stood up to plan my attack, because frankly, I don’t think so well in the previous position.

I lamented that Adam, still buckled in his seat, was too young to play mommy’s least favorite game, “find my phone.” I scouted around in the car for something that might be useful to knock the phone to the other side.  Snow brush?  Negative.  Broom?  Negatory.  I came up with one empty children’s clothing hanger and/or a straw.  Pitiful.

I contemplated my options.

Call over one of those boys getting the carts and beg him for help?  Not likely.

Wait until passersby actually pass the hell by and then crawl under the car on my belly to get the phone?  Yes.

So as I was shimmying sideways on the hot asphalt and cursing my life, I wondered who would call the cops and for what reason:

1. Some late thirties woman seems to be planting either a car bomb or an illegal GPS tracking unit on a stranger’s Corolla
2. OR Because my son was seemingly alone in the locked car during this nonsense?

Or, the more likely option, did anyone even notice?

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