Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
Most of the time, trips to the grocery store aren’t much to write home about. Just a bunch of ordinary, frazzled folks pushing carts loaded with vegetables they might actually eat or with enough leafy greens to camouflage their junk food, lest they be judged by random strangers eager to critique.
Sometimes there’s entertainment, like young guys juggling lemons to impress their honeys or the poultry connoisseurs who pat down every last package of chicken breasts like TSA agents before choosing one. Same old stuff.
Occasionally, there’s comedy, thanks to finicky customers like the tiny creature I spied checking the Pringles for sound. She was older than me—like Yoda old—and about the same height as the Star Wars hero. I would have gotten them down for her, but she was already scaling the shelves. Pretty spry for her kind.
She chose a can, held it up to her ear like a conch shell and shook it. It must not have made the right noise, because she dropped that one on the floor and took another.
That’s when she caught me staring. “This is the only way to know if they’re broken,” she said.
“Aren’t they all broken after that?” I asked.
“Nah. This is a good one,” she said, six cans later. “Want to hear it?”
“I believe you,” I said. (What I don’t believe is that real potato chips will line up like a drill team in a tube.)
That was it for entertainment until—drumroll, please—Thirsty Thursdays found its way into grocery stores. What was once the sacred rite of college frat houses has become a huge hit with shoppers, especially seniors who don’t mind starting the weekend on Thursday at 5 p.m. Most of them would rather start right after lunch, but the lure of half-priced pints is enough to keep the crowds up past pajama time.
My local market started the weekly shindig with a couple of tables wedged between the cash registers and helium balloons, but the lure of cheap beer and free samples drew standing-room-only crowds. Before long, they tripled the bar area and added more tables. On Thursday, the place turns into Cheers, minus Woody Harrelson. Many of my friends plan their social calendar around Thirsty Thursdays (and/or Taco Tuesday at the American Legion).
Some stores even have their own apps to let you know which beers are on tap. You might find Gingerbread Ale, Peach Cobbler Milkshake Ale, White Chocolate Moo-Hoo or Farmhouse Pumpkin. Pretty much any flavor that makes beer sound like it was brewed in a bakery.
When you find that special beer, you can take home a “growler.” That strange term likely came from the 1800s, when people carried beer home from nearby pubs in pails. As the beer sloshed around, the release of carbon dioxide caused a growling noise, according to glassjug.com.
The stores know that the longer you stick around, the more stuff you’re likely to buy, so they’ve added drink holders to the shopping carts. You can shop while you sip, which counts as multitasking. Since drinking quells any inhibitions you might have had about buying a 60-pound rib roast, stores like that, too.
Once you get home, you may wonder why you bought 15 cases of Grey Poupon, but your friends are sure to be impressed when you serve it with hotdogs and genuine potato chips that come in a bag. The Pringles don’t sound right.
Jan A. Igoe is willing to try new things like Thirsty Thursdays any time her friends are willing to drag her. Maybe they’ll help her return the anchovies and emergency bushel of beets on Friday. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all our readers! Join us any time at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.