Why Dave Should Never Speak

In other news today, I won ten bucks on the lottery.  It was a four dollar ticket, so I'm up six dollars.  Also, I'm an idiot, and should learn to never speak.  Allow me to explain:

It started, as many stories do, with a turkey-salad sandwich.  I had been given some leftover turkey from my mother a few days ago, and I figured tonight I'd have a sandwich for dinner.  You see, when you're on EI and living alone, you eat silly things for dinner.  I think I'm going to have pancakes tomorrow.  With jam.  And chicken wings on the side.

But tonight, my plan was to make a turkey salad sandwich.  Shredded turkey, a little bit of mayo, black pepper, green onions, and celery, all with a bit of cheddar cheese on multigrain bread.  Pretty much the best sandwich in the world, really.  However, to make this dinner of champions,I needed green onions, and celery.

I didn't feel like running all the way down to a grocery store, because if you go to a grocery store to buy a stalk of green onions (99 cents) and a single piece of celery (about 20 cents), you'll get laughed out of the store.  Seriously - if your total purchase is less than a pack of gum, they have the right to refuse service.  Or think you're going to rob the place, or are "casing the joint" for some reason.  

We used to have people like this when I worked at a deli.  People that would come to the grocery store every day, making the twenty minute walk from their house, just to wander around the store and buy a two dollar jar of mustard or a block of swiss emmenthal because "hey, I forgot it last week".  These people would come every day, because they wanted the human contact.  You might think it's cute.  I think it's sad as hell.  And I'd sooner die than be that guy.

No, if I went to the grocery store, I'd have to spend at least ten bucks.  And who wants to do that? 

So, I went to the corner store.  Because, while the produce will cost more, I can get away with just buying produce.  Nobody judges you for your purchases at a convienience store.  Unless you're buying porn.  And then only if your purchases involves x girls and x-1 cups. 

Now, there are three choices in the corner store market, ever since  I did some light exploring yesterday and discovered a new (to me, at least) shop on the waterfront.  My options consisted of:

1. The Asian-Run Corner store that smells of bleach, but at least it's clean.  They overcharge, but that's what convienience stores do, right? 
2. The East Indian Corner store that always intimidates me with it's grunginess and glaring cashiers.  These cashiers are always accompanied by a child under the age of twelve.  These kids stare out at you from behind the counter, with large sad eyes.  I have a sneaky suspicion there's a hostage situation here, but I don't want to pry. 
3. The Lebanese corner store I just discovered yesterday on the waterfront.  It has a nice name, and the cashiers seem nice.  They also only have about ten products in the entire store.  And they overcharge like you wouldn't believe.  But hey, at least they sell toothpicks.

I went for the asian corner store.  Mostly because it's the closest to my house, and I can be lazy. When I get there, the store is clean, and that lingering scent of bleach hovers in the air.  I make my way to the produce area, looking for green onions and celery.  No dice, but at least they have... radishes?

Why, in the name of god, would a store not sell green onions, but instead sell radishes?  Are radishes a best-selling product?  Are they in high demand?  What is the rationale, here? Grimacing, I instead decide to buy a bottle of orange juice, because I need something to drink on my run, and I like the bottles with a wide mouth.  There's a dirty joke there, I'm sure. 

I make my way to the counter, and have to fight between two people I'll discreetly refer to as "Neighbourhood locals" and leave it at that. They were wearing torn jean jackets, and had hair that was frazzled and had a definite "unwashed" quality going for it.  They smelled like stale tobacco, and were busily going through the fold-out knives at the counter, trying to find the best blade.  And this gave me pause.

Imagine, if you will, that you are a convienience store owner.  You run a store that will be open late at night, in a neighbourhood that is not really "high class".  You sell products to drunks, drug addicts, and those who are "down and out".  Your store is open until 11 pm, every night, and is staffed by only one staff member after the sun goes down.  What do you do?

Why, you put a bunch of knives on your counter, within the customer's easy reach!  This is a great money-making idea!  Sell them a knife for a couple of bucks.  And then get robbed.  Brilliant.

Anyways, I avoid the local colour, give the vendor my two bucks, and start to leave, before deciding to self-check my lottery ticket.  And, wouldn't you know it?  I'm a winner.  Ten bucks.  Not much, but hey, I won!

What do I do?

"Hey, cool!  I have a winning ticket!" I loudly proclaim.  As if I've won a lot more than ten bucks, I should add.

The shop owner looks up at me. 

The two jean-jacket knife afficianados look up at me.  And they're armed.

Little alarm bells are ringing in my head.  I should have just worn a shirt that said "rob me.  I'm an idiot!" and left it at that. 

"Uh... I'll cash it later" I stammer out.  Not, say, "Hey, cool, I won ten bucks." or anything like that.  No, instead, I am saying to these people:  "I have won a large amount of money that I will not identify.  And instead of cashing that money now, I will walk away, piquing your curiousity.  By the way, I like your knives.  Hey, did I mention I'm a scrawny ginger kid?"

When I got out that door, I could feel the eyes of the local colour on the back of my neck.  I power-walked home at a good twenty clicks, my lottery ticket burning a hole in my pocket.

I think a "never speak!" policy should be implemented.