got to my grandparents’ house on the day of my turn, Pop Pop already had his coupons and his strategy laid out. We were going, undoubtedly, to the grocery store.
As he gathered his store advertisements and got his cane, he looked at me and disgustedly shook his head.
“You know, Laur,” he said, grimacing, “I’ve been praying to God for three days for something to feed the birds, and not one time this week have I found anything on the day-old racks. What am I going to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Don’t you bring any old bread home, Nick!” my Nana shouted from the kitchen. “I just got rid of all the goddamned ants in the backyard from the last moldy loaf you spread around out there.”
“Ah, Christ,” Pop Pop said to me, shaking his head again, “I am a caged animal. A goddamned caged animal in my own house.”
I decided not to say anything.
“I hope we find some old bread,” he continued as I held his cane and helped him into the car. “Sometimes they throw the old bread away.”
Oh, no. I was having no part of this. No sir.
“You can forget it, Pop, I’m not getting in the Dumpster,” I said firmly. “I don’t care if the voice of the Lord was commanding me from a fiery Hefty bag, it’s not going to happen.”
Pop Pop looked at me in complete disgust. “You don’t have to get in,” he asserted. “Most of the time you don’t have to dig that much; they put the bread right on top.”
I hoped that I was doing a poor job at evaluating the situation as I drove him to Safeway and followed his directions to pull into the loading docks behind the store, where a Boar’s Head truck was already parked and being unloaded.
“There’s the Dumpster,” Pop Pop said, pointing. “Just stop right here.”
I stopped the car and didn’t even have time to turn off the engine when I heard Pop Pop gasp. I looked up. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
It was Pop Pop’s Holy Grail.
His pot of gold.
A morsel from the Garden of Eden.
It was a shopping cart, directly in front of us as if God had placed it there himself, nearly toppling over with bakery goods.
I will swear on anything that the eighty-two-year-old man in the seat next to me, who was using a cane merely nine minutes before, got out of that car and ran to the cart.
He dragged it back to the car, flung open the back door, and began shoveling the equivalent of a Hostess warehouse into my backseat.
There were brownies and cheesecakes and jelly rolls. There were loaves of bread and poppy-seed rolls and hot dog buns. There were Oreo layer cakes and lemon loaves and something that had peanut butter in it.
“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” Pop Pop kept saying. “Most of this stuff is only one day past code! One day!”
I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it firsthand. After eighty-two years, he had finally done it.
Pop Pop had won the lottery.
The backseat was nearly full when I heard a loud beeping sound, and Pop Pop began screaming.
“Oh my God! Laurie! The Boar’s Head truck! The Boar’s Head truck!”
And then I saw it; the big red-and-black truck with the pig’s head on the side was backing up quickly, and was in danger of very quickly driving over my car.
What else could I do? I hit the gas. I had to. If I get in one more car accident, my insurance gets revoked. I had only driven a couple of feet, only enough to escape danger. But I guess a couple of feet was all it took to drag my grandfather—who despite the mortal severity of the situation could not interrupt his heist for two to three seconds—almost to the ground.
I gasped when I saw him get knocked over by the car, but he got right back up and tossed another cheesecake into the backseat.
“Are you all right?” I screamed at him.
“I can’t stop, gotta keep loading,” he assured me. “Gotta keep loading!”
My mom was going to kill me when I told her that I had run Pop Pop over with the car. It would prove how
As he gathered his store advertisements and got his cane, he looked at me and disgustedly shook his head.
“You know, Laur,” he said, grimacing, “I’ve been praying to God for three days for something to feed the birds, and not one time this week have I found anything on the day-old racks. What am I going to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Don’t you bring any old bread home, Nick!” my Nana shouted from the kitchen. “I just got rid of all the goddamned ants in the backyard from the last moldy loaf you spread around out there.”
“Ah, Christ,” Pop Pop said to me, shaking his head again, “I am a caged animal. A goddamned caged animal in my own house.”
I decided not to say anything.
“I hope we find some old bread,” he continued as I held his cane and helped him into the car. “Sometimes they throw the old bread away.”
Oh, no. I was having no part of this. No sir.
“You can forget it, Pop, I’m not getting in the Dumpster,” I said firmly. “I don’t care if the voice of the Lord was commanding me from a fiery Hefty bag, it’s not going to happen.”
Pop Pop looked at me in complete disgust. “You don’t have to get in,” he asserted. “Most of the time you don’t have to dig that much; they put the bread right on top.”
I hoped that I was doing a poor job at evaluating the situation as I drove him to Safeway and followed his directions to pull into the loading docks behind the store, where a Boar’s Head truck was already parked and being unloaded.
“There’s the Dumpster,” Pop Pop said, pointing. “Just stop right here.”
I stopped the car and didn’t even have time to turn off the engine when I heard Pop Pop gasp. I looked up. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
It was Pop Pop’s Holy Grail.
His pot of gold.
A morsel from the Garden of Eden.
It was a shopping cart, directly in front of us as if God had placed it there himself, nearly toppling over with bakery goods.
I will swear on anything that the eighty-two-year-old man in the seat next to me, who was using a cane merely nine minutes before, got out of that car and ran to the cart.
He dragged it back to the car, flung open the back door, and began shoveling the equivalent of a Hostess warehouse into my backseat.
There were brownies and cheesecakes and jelly rolls. There were loaves of bread and poppy-seed rolls and hot dog buns. There were Oreo layer cakes and lemon loaves and something that had peanut butter in it.
“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” Pop Pop kept saying. “Most of this stuff is only one day past code! One day!”
I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it firsthand. After eighty-two years, he had finally done it.
Pop Pop had won the lottery.
The backseat was nearly full when I heard a loud beeping sound, and Pop Pop began screaming.
“Oh my God! Laurie! The Boar’s Head truck! The Boar’s Head truck!”
And then I saw it; the big red-and-black truck with the pig’s head on the side was backing up quickly, and was in danger of very quickly driving over my car.
What else could I do? I hit the gas. I had to. If I get in one more car accident, my insurance gets revoked. I had only driven a couple of feet, only enough to escape danger. But I guess a couple of feet was all it took to drag my grandfather—who despite the mortal severity of the situation could not interrupt his heist for two to three seconds—almost to the ground.
I gasped when I saw him get knocked over by the car, but he got right back up and tossed another cheesecake into the backseat.
“Are you all right?” I screamed at him.
“I can’t stop, gotta keep loading,” he assured me. “Gotta keep loading!”
My mom was going to kill me when I told her that I had run Pop Pop over with the car. It would prove how
Similar Books
Leaving Mother Lake
Yang Erche Namu, Christine Mathieu
Made on Earth
Wolfgang Korn
Harald Hardrada
John Marsden
Winter Witch
Elaine Cunningham
Where the Heart Lies
Ellie Dean
Map to the Stars
Jen Malone
Bound and Freed Boxed Set
Nikki Sex
Passage by Night (v5)
Jack Higgins
Acrobaddict
Joe Putignano