About two weeks ago I had to make a quick trip to the pharmacy just a few blocks away from where I work. Feeling a cold coming on, my objective was to purchase a box of tissues, Zicam Vitamin C drops, and copious amounts of Tylenol. As I gazed at the tissue box mountain in the corner of the store carefully contemplating which brand to choose, a little old lady approached me.
If this sounds liked an all-too-cliche expression to utilize for my description-- well, it really isn't. The woman before me barely reached the five foot tall mark (five feet short?). She stood hunched over with a cane in her left hand and a shopping basket in her right. Pointing her cane at a row of sky-blue colored boxes, she looked at me and said in a raspy Brooklyn accent, "The Puffs are on sale, ya know."
Although I consider myself a fairly streetwise New Yorker-- I've mastered a "subway scowl" that successfully creates a facade of toughness, if not the illusion that I'm sufferring from lockjaw-- there is always the occasional internal freakout session that occurs when a stranger starts talking me up. But this little old lady seemed harmless enough. "Oh, really?" I replied.
"Yeah, ya gotta pick up one of these circulars at the front to get the good stuff," she said, holding up her basket, the bottom of which was lined with multiple sheets of coupons.
I grabbed a box of Puffs. "Thanks," I told her.
"They're 99 cents!" she said.
"Wow," I replied, immediately feeling a bit silly after the utterance left my mouth. But I looked back at the pile and noticed that the other brands were $2 and $3 apiece. Any embarrassment instantly evaporated. "Thank you," I told the old woman.
"No problem. Have a good one," she said, turning around. But before she headed back up the aisle, she added "Have a good blow!"
Now, I rarely laugh out loud in public when I'm unaccompanied by a friend or family member, but this case was an exception. Regardless of whether or not the woman knew what she said had sounded like to the outside observer, I cracked up while walking to the cashier, and was still forcing back a smirk during my wait in line. As I was about to pay, the little old lady brushed by me again on her way out the door. "Take care," she said, but not without adding "The Puffs are 99 cents, right?" to the cashier. Any good bargain-hunter has to be sure of herself.
The cashier, a gothy-looking woman only visible from the waist up behind the counter, responded "Actually, they're 88 cents today."
A twentysomething hipster with a fauxhawk and thick-rimmed glasses emerged from behind me (this is Williamsburg, don't forget). "Wait," he said, in a slow, deep bass voice. "Puffs are only 88 cents?" Before anyone could answer, he was bolting to the back of the store to scale the tissue box mountain.
I laughed out loud for a second time. "Told ya so, gotta ask about these things!" the little old lady said. I told her thanks again as Goth Woman rang up my purchases. Halfway out the door, she looked back and said "Sure. What're friends for?"
The ten minutes or so that this older woman and I were in contact with one another was certainly not enough time to create a lifelong, life-altering friendship. But it's funny how a single act of concern about something as trivial of tissues stuck with me (as well as the inherent comedic nature of the situation). I don't know if I'll ever see her again, but I do know I'll be retelling this story again. You know what they say about laughter being the best medicine? Here's my spin on that classic maxim: an anecdote is the best antidote.
And now, I end this entry with a bundle of kooky kat quadruplets. Enjoy.
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