It’s about to get hot up in here, and heat means tempers might flare faster than normal. Even the food can get testy.
Please be advised…
Our friend was walking across the grocery store’s parking lot during the heat of Louisiana’s summertime when she saw a woman’s head slumped onto the steering wheel of a modest automobile.
“It looked like she was resting, waiting on someone,” our friend said. No big deal.
So she continued inside. Did her shopping. Would have taken her about 45 minutes but instead it took her an hour because she couldn’t find the squeeze cheese. It’s always something.
As she headed for her car, she saw the same woman she’d seen when she’d walked inside, still slumped over the steering wheel of the car. It was more than 100 degrees outside most every day that week; who knows how hit it was inside a car parked for more than an hour on a paved parking lot.
The shopper left her cart of groceries by her car and hurried back inside the store, found the manager, and the pair approached the car containing the slumped, unmoving woman.
The manager tapped the window. The woman inside didn’t move, but the manager did hear a voice from inside the car. And this is what it said, muffled:
“I’ve been shot!”
The voice came from the slumped woman.
The manager grabbed the door and pulled it open. Carefully, he touched the woman’s shoulder. She opened her eyes. No blood.
“My neck!” she said. “They got me in my neck!”
The store manager looked at her neck. And that’s where he found it, hugging hard on the back of her head.
A canned biscuit.
You know it’s hot outside when even the biscuits are getting angry and firing themselves, kamikaze-like, at consumers.
What happened was the biscuit had shot out of the hit-on-the-side-to-open can and struck the woman in the neck. Everyone was relieved that no one had been injured and that the lady had bought small canned biscuits and not the extra-large kind or, have mercy, a French bread, which could have been fatal.
The way the story was told to me, cooler heads prevailed and everyone then went their separate ways. But tell me, how could any of their lives ever be the same?
They’ve learned what some of us already knew: there are some conniving, dishonest, really mean foods out there. A woman once told me she was shopping in a Springhill grocery and dropped a frozen turkey on her foot.
“Near ’bout broke my toe,” she told me, teary eyed at the memory of a turkey who, despite being a corpse, AND frozen, nearly ruined a family Thanksgiving.
I know this one guy who was trying to open a can of Butternuts as he left a County Market, and he almost walked right into a moving car.
Very sneaky and stealthy, those Butternuts. Crafty.
Another friend was driving his car while reaching across the seat into a bucket of fried chicken, digging around for an easy-to-eat leg or thigh, and he crashed his car into a tree. He survived but the car was totaled, as was most of the chicken which — and I guess this was a blessing in disguise — was dead anyway.
Do you see a pattern here? There are some killer foods on the loose, and they don’t care who they hurt or how they do it.
It’s time to fight back. I hope the woman who thought she’d been shot took the offending biscuit home, cooked it right then, and left it on a saucer on the stove, uncovered, to die a slow and stale death.
Contact Teddy at
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