Balem's Mute Ass, Christ The Plymouth Rock And Other Such Happenings

I first noticed Sam the Grocery Store Man a couple of years ago.

A scruffy redhead wearing those "intellectual / reading style" glasses, he was the perpetual entertainer for those who graced his checkout stand. Quick and efficient at his job, he effortlessly conversed with his customers about all manner of things. He was kind yet inquisitive, soft spoken but clear and modest but comfortable. Above all, though, he was incredibly quick and witty, and if the customer didn't leave laughing, they were laughing by the time they made it to their car.

It just takes some of us longer...

So I developed a "crush" on Sam the Grocery Store Man. I was seized with the desire to ask him out for coffee - if for no other reason, to figure out why were not already friends - but the results were a bit more like a seiz-ure. Not the grand mal flavor, with convulsions and such, but the kind where you just go blank and stare and drool a bit. One failed attempt left me with head in hands, while my diploma in communication mocked me from the wall.

Soon after, he disappeared, which was just as well for I was avoiding his lane with the type of zeal that brought forth language from the unlikely mouth of Balam's ass. Too bad I wasn't operating in it when I tried to ask him out to coffee...

Regardless, I had long since forgotten Sam the Grocery Store Man when suddenly he reappeared - wire rimmed glasses and the green apron of the goddess. I gulped. Just how bad did I want that Caramel Macchiato?

I summoned up the courage and ordered my drink.

"That'll be $3.13."

"Oh, is it possible to ring up these other three things here?"

"Sure... Ok, that'll be $16.20 - the year they landed at Plymouth Rock."

How could I not laugh at that?! So I asked him what other dates he had stored away in his head. He effortlessly obliged me and with a sheepish grin began rattling off various other dates concerning King William and Charlemagne, atomic bombs, Watergate, Pearl Harbor and others.

Snap!

The lid is on the cup, he reaches out to pass it to me...

"Zero..."

"I'm sorry?"

"Jesus is born."

Having lived here in this Reformed Church culture, I furiously attempt to repress in that moment the response "He is born indeed!" But in less than a second (sweet mercy from heaven) I get it.

1620 - Plymouth Rock.

Zero - Jesus is born.

I think I'm in love...

(This is a mostly fictional work based loosely on actual encounters. If you are Sam the Grocery Store Man, please don't sue. If you're a friend of mine, please save your time and energy and don't try to find him or set me up with him! All rights reserved...or whatever they say. The opinions expressed here...)

Balem's Mute Ass, Christ The Plymouth Rock And Other Such Happenings

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