A Story About Albert Brooks (well, kind of)
Created | Updated Aug 21, 2002
The Day I Saw Albert Brooks In The Produce Section At The Mom And Pop Grocery Store Across From The Mapache Indian Reservation On Columbus Drive Just Across The Border In Southern North Dakota
A few years ago, I was sitting on my porch alone one balmy February day in northern South Dakota, sipping a latte. It was too sweet, and then I got an instant headache. Then a pig ambled by with a perplexed expression on his face that suggested, 'Why was I born a pig?'. I was amazed.
The incident reminded me of a classic novel by Penderhurst. Isn't it funny how so many odd things that happen to us are actually commonplace in places like Peoria, Osaka, and the west end of Vladivostok? Yet the masses seem unaffected, like moths that endure the endless profanities of the homeless.
I was getting somewhere. I could feel it. But I was quickly growing tired of sitting on the porch, so I staggered into the den, sat on my favorite throw rug, listened to the 3rd movement of Pesque's La Muerdita (my favorite!), and lost myself in an episode of 'Green Acres'. It was the episode in which Oliver got irritated at something stupid that Lisa did. I fell asleep before the ending, and incorporated the episode into a dream. Then I woke up in a cold sweat.
Frantic, I rushed upstairs to the bathroom, stumbling at least 3 times on the stairs, skinning my bare ass. Then I gave up the bathroom idea and had a beer instead. It was one I had started the previous week, but in a moment of quiet disillusionment, opted to abandon. It was now quite warm. And flat.
Perfect!
Suddenly, Theresa called, sounding desperate, and we talked for what seemed like well over a day. It turned out to be nothing, which I realized after the first minute or so, but I stayed on anyhow because I remembered it was supposed to be windy that day.
And windy it was! Way too windy to fly a kite. But not too windy to BUY one, if you know what I mean! So after I slammed the phone down on my good friend, I jumped on my Harley and sped as fast as I could to the Mom and Pop grocery store a few streets down, across from the Mapache Indian Reservation on Columbus Drive, just across the border in southern North Dakota, and bought a hundred dollars worth of Fat-Free Fig Newtons.
They were very yummy.
When I arrived home, there was a strange eerie feeling in the air, much like the feeling I experienced some 20 years ago when the pea soup I was eating at my favorite diner gradually turned to mauve, then back to turquoise. I managed to get a free slice of rhubarb pie out of it, though. Then the waitress exploded in mid air.
Weird, huh?
I approached my modest bungalow with caution, firing several rounds at an 'innocent' squirrel perched in my next door neighbour's elm tree. Strangely, blowing the squirrel's tail to smithereens didn't alleviate the eeriness, so I went back to the grocery store to buy more cookies, but this time, no Fat-Free Fig Newtons, as they were fresh out. Go figure. So I bought about $75 of pomegranates.
That's when I spotted Albert Brooks in the produce section. He was weighing a bunch of bananas. Then I saw him break off one of the bananas and throw it across the length of the produce section into the plantain bin, which are not quite like regular bananas (although I'm sure they wish they were). The produce clerk, a heavy-set Sudanese gentleman in his late 40's, witnessed the incident and approached Mr. Brooks, who vehemently denied throwing the banana. The argument morphed into a scuffle, and then into a full-blown fisticuffs, the two men careening off the various fruit and vegetable bins, knocking produce all over the area. It got very sticky, so I ran out in fear, forgetting to pay for my pomegranates, but due to the sudden mayhem in the produce section, nobody noticed.
I was too filled with guilt and shame to ever eat the pomegranates. In fact, they are still in my saddlebag.
But strangely, the eeriness went way like a false toothache. Is that odd or what?
I never saw Albert Brooks again, but the memory of the banana incident in the produce section at the Mom and Pop grocery store across from the Mapache Indian Reservation on Columbus Drive just across the border in southern North Dakota stays with me to this day.
I would like to end with a few lines from my favorite poet, Pedro Scott:
'The clouds reunited
The wine thickened
The chickens got loud
And my heart sank
But my eyes... ah, my eyes!
They now see what the chickens only wish they could see!
How true!
