Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 Read Online Free PDF

death. It's the way she
died that's beginning to nag at me. It reminds me of something. Someone
I've seen before? But I can't drag it out of the cobwebs in my mind.
Damn getting old and what it does to your memory!
----
    6

    Supermarket Shuffle
    W e have finally arrived at our local market. Picture a
supermarket in any city in America. So, pardon me if I don't waste time
describing where the cream cheese is.
    But our Publix has one big difference: the
customers. Shoppers under fifty-five are referred to as "the kids." The
rest of us are seniors who live along Oakland Park Boulevard in the
various condos, boardinghouses, apartment buildings, and retirement
homes. The dress code? Canes. Walkers. Wheelchairs. The object?
Shopping for food and surviving the experience. The secret agenda? Kill
or maim everyone in your way. OK. Carts at the ready. Bracing
ourselves, we take a deep breath, and start wheeling! Welcome to the
Supermarket Shuffle!
    Evvie and I watch as Ida, bun bobbing,
teeth bared, relishing a chase, immediately dashes off on her own.
Bella and Sophie, their four eager hands pushing one cart, meander
their jolly way down the nearest aisle. And off Evvie and I go.
    Aisle One. There goes Yetta Hoffman,
ninety-seven, from our Phase Six, using her cane to dig into the back
of eighty-eight-year-old Miltie Offenbach. He dares to block her view
of the pickled herring specials. Move on. That cane is sharp.
    Aisle Two. Look out for Moishe Maibaum, in
fine fettle, using his walker like he used to fly his P51 Mustang
fighter plane in World War II. "Oops, sorry, Mrs. Garcetti," he says,
"just a flesh wound," as he knocks her against what was, only seconds
ago, a tall pyramid of sugar peas.
    Aisle Three. We are debating pineapple
juice over prune.
    Aisle Four. A store employee is giving out
minuscule samples of lox on crackers the size of pinkie-nails and the
line snakes around the perimeter of the entire store, punctuated by
much pushing, shoving, and insulting.
    "Putz!"
    "Yenta!"
    "Meeskite!"
    "Lunatic!"
    (Translation: Penis. Busybody. Ugly one and
lunatic.)
    A familiar announcement comes over on the
loudspeaker. Cleanup on aisle seven. No, not some careless child, only
a senior with palsy. A jar of Korean kimchi has smashed. You know what
kimchi smells like?
    Look out! Eleven o'clock, wheelchair
bearing down on us. Jump! Breathlessly we grab for a couple of the
hanging salamis and hold on for dear life. (Well, actually we just step
out of the way.)
    In aisle eight, a drama is taking place.
Two women. Photographs. A letter. Tears. We reach for our items and
move past quickly and quietly.
    Meat and Poultry. A tug-of-war. Two sets of
spindly arms hold tight to two equally spindly chicken wings. A fight
to the finish. Move on. Forget making chicken soup. Get lamb chops
instead.
    One long hour later, our shopping is
finally done. Evvie, Ida, and I have checked out, but we have to wait
for Bella and Sophie. And here they come, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber,
basket filled to the brim. I sigh. This will take forever.
    The checkout stand. One needs the patience
of Job. Fifteen minutes for the first customer; one tiny change purse
filled with coins and the slowest fingers in the world eking them out.
    Then the next customer and an argument over
two cans of sardines. "They were cheaper last week. So how come the
price is higher this week?"
    "No, they're exactly the same price as last
week."
    "Listen, you little
pisher,
don't
tell
me
! I'm old enough to be your great-grandmother."
    Finally Bella and then Sophie.
    Every item calls for a debate.
    "How come the Bosc pears are so high?"
    "How come the broccoli has no taste?"
    "How come you don't carry the Del Monte
peaches anymore? I mean the 'cling'?" Then there is the obligatory
exchange of recipes. Complaints about the store. The attitude of the
help. Local politics. World hunger.
    Evvie taps her foot throughout, muttering
obscenities, but that doesn't move them any faster.
    When we're done,