literature

The Granny Saga Part One: The Grocery Store

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Literature Text

The word “grandmother, granny, grandma,” or other such names used to describe one’s parent’s parent, often provokes images of a sweet old lady, wearing an apron and making chocolate chip cookies from scratch. This, however, is not always the case, as such with my mother’s mother.

Granny, as we called her, was born in 1912. I always remembered the year she was born because it was the same year the Titanic sank. She was 18 when the Great Depression started but she never knew it. Being born and raised on farm money was always rare, so being broke was nothing new.

I tell you this because I feel it would better help you understand her behavior if you knew just a little about the hard life she led. Moreover, you should know, Granny was what one would consider a “wild child,” even by today’s standard. She had her first child out of wedlock, my aunt Janie, and never revealed who the father was, not even to Aunt Janie. This was a secret she took with her to the grave.

Now I want to set the stage for you. Picture a time, if you will, not unlike the present, but before cell phones and internet, where big hair and neon colors ran rampant. Yes, I am speaking of the 80’s.  This would put Granny in her early seventies. She was still full of life and driving at this time. However, because of convenience, my mother took her to the grocery store every week. This way they could get all their shopping done together.

The local Foodland served as the grocery store of choice for the two. I was in my early teens during this one event. I went with them on most trips to the store. I helped with the bags and whatnot. Most days I zoned out and didn’t listen to what they said but this particular day I heard every word. And I am both glad and ashamed I did.

As we reached the checkout line I began to unload the shopping chart, placing the many items on the conveyor belt. The lady behind the counter began ringing up the items and sliding them to the young boy to be bagged.

I remember looking at the boy who was probably only a year or two older than me. He was chubby, had long hair, and an earring in his left ear. Remember, this was the eighties. To me he didn’t seem out of place at all. In fact, if anyone else would have seen him they wouldn’t have given him another thought. However, my Granny wasn’t just anyone.

I guess her eyesight had started to go by this time; at least I like to think that was the reason. Also, you need to know my Granny had only one volume button on her speech: very loud. The woman didn’t know how to whisper, which only made this worse.

“I thought they only let boys bag groceries,” she said loud enough for everyone in the front of the store to hear.

Mom closed her eyes in frustration and lowered her head. Then she opened her eyes, leaned close to Granny and whispered, “Mama, that is a boy,” hoping that would end it. It didn’t.
“Well he’s got titties like a girl,” she said in her defense.

At this remark my body went stiff and everyone within a twenty foot radius stopped what they were doing and stared, including the young grocery bagger. My eyes went to my mother and she was covering her bright red face.

Then something weird happened. Everyone started moving again and pretended like it never happened. Mom paid the cashier and I started pushing the cart towards the door. Mom never said a word to Granny about what she had said, for two reasons. First, Granny didn’t think she said anything wrong, and second, she wouldn’t have cared if she had.

                                                      The End.
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homestucker42's avatar
Cute story it made me chuckle