The Winn Dixie grocery store next to my office can eat a bag of crap?paper or plastic (doesn't matter to me). That store and me have been feuding for years, but Friday finally iced the proverbial cakewalk, so to mess-up-a-cliche. Some of you may remember that a few months ago, the Winn Dixie fascists told me that I am no longer allowed to take magazines and books off their racks, walk them to the bathroom, drop a deuce while reading them and then replace them on the rack. I think the representatives of the Dixie of the Winn had a problem with germs or something and I guess I can get behind that.
I mean, it's not that hard to print out a David Nelson column and walk it to the crapper.
But over the course of the last three months, the Winn Dixie next door has made it all too clear that they do not like me and would very much enjoy seeing me get hit in the head with something heavy and metal, like a frying pan or a nuclear bomb.
First, it was the potato rolls. I am Dutch and it is a rule that we all love potato rolls. You will notice little Dutch windmills on most packages of potato rolls. This is not a coincidence or a marketing trick. It's just a Dutch thing. Like putting ice in your milk, or being sexy and blonde. There's not much we can do about it.
Well, one day a few months ago, I walked into the Winn Dixie bakery and noticed that they had actually baked fresh potato rolls. So I bought them. And I ate them. And I liked them so much that I asked the bakery ladies if they could have some more for me the following Monday. They said they would.
The following Monday came and I went to the Winn Dixie and they didn't have any potato rolls, so I politely asked the women at the bakery if they could make some for me the next day. They said they would but they didn't.
Rinse and repeat for two more days.
Finally, on Thursday of that week, I told the old chick behind the counter how disappointed I was with her lack of potato roll production. Her response, “They're available in the bread aisle. A company out of Michigan makes them.”
My response: “I know. But they taste better fresh.”
Her response: “Well, I'm sorry.”
My response: “You sure are.”
Her response: a shrug.
Fast forward to Friday of last week: I enter the Winn Dixie, head down to the ice cream aisle and search for my favorite ice cream of all time: Bailey's Irish Cre`me Liquor. And they are out. No big deal, right? After all, stores occasionally run out of supplies.
As I was checking out of the store with my pint of boring coffee ice cream, I spotted the store's manager and jokingly asked him when he was gonna have more Bailey's Irish Cre`me Liquor Ice Cream.
“We're not stocking that stuff anymore. It wasn't popular enough.”
After I explained to him that I happened to love the Bailey's and that I bought it with regularity (at least once a month), he informed me that stocking said ice cream just wasn't cost effective.
“I hope your company goes bankrupt,” I said.
And when I got to the door, I turned back towards him and added, “Again.”