Yahweh is gonna be mad

So I made a run to the grocery store this evening. The very local grocery store. The store nearest my house . . . that I never go to because it's in Oak Park. I might be mugged or something, or not have to pay $4.00 for soup like I do in Royal Oak. I went to the low rent Farmer Jack because I am sick and I wanted popcicles and I wanted them NOW. Cool popsicles to soothe the awful throat sickness that is coming from the lurking sinus sickness. (Not cool when you have a cyst in there too and a deviated septum that won't let anything out)

Now I'm making Oak Park sound like a hole . . . and it's not really. The Farmer Jack is conveniently located, well lit and had everything I wanted (unlike the evil Meijer). While making my selections (yogurt, water, strawberries, cool whip, lean cuisine’s and soup that was on sale), several odd things happened in the Farmer Jack. First, a unsupervised small child stood next to me and danced at the yogurt fridge. I don't know if it was the music or that he could see his reflection but he was doing a damn good robot while I was deciding to go with plain vanilla or creamy French vanilla (got some of both, thank you). Just this six year old, doing the robot to some eighties song on the P.A.. Wonderful. If God appears to people in the grocery store, I think that's how he does it.

As I am walking to the soup aisle, there is an orthodox woman with her three girls next to me. The oldest has to be about twelve, the youngest four or so and the oldest is pushing the cart. Now living near the "Jewish Box Store" (Jewish Costco?) on Greenfield, I do not raise an eyebrow to wigs and skirts or all the walking on Saturday. I just drive more carefully on the Sabbath. However, the littlest girl points at me and says "Look at that lady's hair". I do raise an eyebrow at her but no one says anything. There is no mother grabbing the finger and saying in a hushed voice with clenched teeth, "Don't point, it's rude" (what my mother would do). There is no sister admonishing "I know it's weird but shhh . . . " (what I would have done to my sister). Just the pointing and the yelling about my hair.

Other than the look I give the kid (my students' call it the ______ stare of death'), I say nothing. I walk down the soup aisle. Suddenly, it's as if the orthodox foursome has to be where I am. The follow me into the soup aisle. They block the aisle at the pancake syrup. They block the aisle again at the bread. Each time, one or the other daughter stares at me, occasionally pointing. The mother doesn't notice since she is too busy blocking every aisle I'm in . . . and quavering about the cheapest pancake syrup. Funny, I never thought, at the time, why aren't they in the kosher aisle? (They have the most amazing kosher aisle in this Farmer Jack . . . every kind of matzo, every kind) Finally, I am at the checkout . . . and they stand behind me. The middle child, in addition to staring coldly, audits my cart items. Evidently, only sinners buy Lean Cuisine.

Now I know that this hair is a cry for attention. Heck, I've been pointed at before I even had muppet hair. But even the mothers at the Farmer Jack on Warren in Detroit would admonish their children for pointing at me because I was the only white person in the store. (No really, the child did say "Look mommy, a white girl" when I was living in Detroit and went to the store . . . humbling really, because how many times did that mother have to deal with "oh, a black girl" in her lifetime?) But really, repeated pointing? Repeated stare downs? What am I? A circus act for orthodox kids? . . . Don't answer that. All I know is the Methodist version of God is way against pointing and staring. I have to think the orthodox Jewish God feels the same way. At the very least, no one is for pointing and staring multiple times.