September 18th 10:09pm - The Magic Bullet

I used The Magic Bullet for a few months… and then, one early evening, four of us congregated into our tiny kitchen while I combined fruit, juice, and ice into the ever-delicious unity of a smoothie. Four human bodies plus Magic Bullet resulted in cramped, restricted kitchen quarters. Consequence: margaritas. And Trader Joes. After a few rounds of cheap tequila mingled with cheap tequila mix (a few frozen strawberries thrown in for good measure didn’t add quite the desired effect), it was unanimous: trip to Trader Joes to get dinner food. Also undisputed: compose yet another round of margaritas to entertain us during the one block struggle (however rewarding) to Trader Joe’s. Four of us (I, one of my roommates, and two guys) undertook the exodus. Spirits high, clear plastic glasses (compliments of The Magic Bullet) full = brilliance. We tromped across the street and entered TJ’s. One of the guys procured a shopping cart, remarked that it just wasn’t big enough, and we embarked on our grocery shopping adventure. We hurled carrot muffins, juice, yellow squash, garlic, bagels, bread, and frozen food into the cart. We tossed in herbs, potatoes, bruschetta spread, pita chips. In went milk, eggs, cheese, peppered tortillas, dragon fruit. We trekked up and down every aisle at least once. And then our haven: the food sample stand: cheesecake. The four of us saw it and scampered, dashed, and scurried for the stall to see who could get there first. Limbs fled as people dodged out of our way. Our arms fluttered as we elbowed our way to the front. Once the mad frenzied rush was no longer necessary, we dawdled by the booth, generously (and so considerately) helping ourselves to second and third portions. The flavors zinging through my mouth: margarita, cheesecake, margarita, cheesecake. When kindly asked to step away, we moved on to more significant life factors. Next stop: alcohol aisle. The questions darted from our heads to our mouths and into the public atmosphere. What alcohol should we get? How much? Should we get one bottle? Two? Three? Four, one for each? What should we buy? Wine? Beer? Hard alcohol? How much? And what kind? And how much?
We stood deliberating in the predominant walkway with our overflowing shopping cart, red mouths (from the margarita mix), and half-full glasses. Someone suggested something and we laughed. What were we getting again? And how much? A half-case of wine or a handle? Two 12-packs of beer? What are we doing? After forty minutes and almost-drained glasses we couldn’t refrain from expressing our mirth in the form of loud, raucous laughter and articulations. Within a short span of time the alcohol aisle was deserted… with the exception of the four of us. We continued our troublesome behavior. Just as we were draining the last dregs of our drinks, a manager cautiously approached. We still hadn’t decided on the drink of choice. He gently informed us our conduct was, in fact, driving customers away. They hadn’t sold any alcohol in the past twenty-five minutes. Would we please make our selection and be on our way? It took us another five minutes before we settled on… some kind of alcohol...

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