Grandmas Are Vintage.

My pheromones must be operating at a high octane or something… While running some errands for my friends, casually walking through the grocery store, checking off the list, grabbing some goodies that look yummy, talking into my ear buds to my manager and as I’m walking up to the liqueur section of the store, a man abruptly pops up from his stocking duties and says, “What are you looking for?” Cheerily, I tell him what I’m looking for and he guides me to it. With a  side of sarcasm, saying that he knows of a much better wine and should consider trying that one instead. Oh, OK, well, I’m not buying for me so thank you, but no thanks. Find my wine. Thank you. Now, shoo. Still standing in the liqueur isle, not a bottle in my dolly, I’m scouring for this specific wine I was set out to buy. Which is usually, quite easily found, but today, is hiding from me and I see every other option for this brand; Except, the grigio. Ten, agonizing minutes later. Liqueur section guy comes back and jokes that its not just going to hop in the shopping cart on its own. Funny. Are you the retail comedy relief? That damn grigio is nowhere to be found. Wild goose chase.  He plops down to the bottom shelf and starts helping me search and finds it behind other brands a foot away from where he first showed me. I’m pretty sure some wino purposely hid it there. Where I -the non lush- wouldn’t find it. He fills up my little reusable bag with six bottles, which is all it can fit and hands it to me. Thanks. He shakes his head. This wine is garbage. You should be drinking something better than this. Well, again, kind grocery clerk, it’s not for me. I’m merely checking off my list. I attempt to roll away as he’s holding tightly to a bottle of red. I’m reading the bottle and it says vintage… 2010. Vintage is NOT three years ago homie. Cars from the early 1900s are vintage. Jewelry found at garage sales, handed down from previous generations, are vintage. Grandma’s… are vintage.

As I’m leaving the liquer section, stock boy has apparently tossed this 2010 classic wine, into my shopping buggy. What the… Well, it actually, makes me smile because he was persistent about this wine. Clown. I put it on the end cap and head to the checkout. Guess who pops up behind me -literally out of nowhere- and asks what I did with the wine? Yep. You guessed it. The annoying proprietor. I’m supposed to believe it hijacked itself into my cart. Hello? I think you’re aware of that, salesperson. He quickly returns, buys it and again, tosses into my grocery wagon. And demands to see me back later that evening, in the parking lot, at a specified time and that he’ll bring the paper cups.

Excuse me, what?

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