Ringo M.
Yelp
Dear Cody,
In the past several months or so, I would take occasional walks down to Boss Supermarket to pick up a few items for the fridge.
I wouldn't call Boss an especially appealing market to visit. The floors are a bit grimey, a byproduct of water from the fish tanks and a lack of concern from both management and shoppers. The way the sole of my shoe sticks slightly to random tiles feels like a surprisingly interesting sensation, but in a half disgusting sort of way, I guess. As I navigate around the market, my shoe peels off to produce an audible chhhhweeeck sound reminiscent of furious tape and paper unwrapping on Christmas mornings. All in all, along with poor lighting, the unique smell of 'choy sum' on shelves, and a general sense of musty-ness, Boss Supermarket absolutely captures the authenticity of the Chinese supermarket in San Francisco.
None of the things I mentioned above actually bothers me, at least not enough to stop me from getting a pack of Vitasoy and a jar of spicy pickled bamboo shoots. The former is a vegan drink option for Mommy, and Boss carries the black soy milk flavor (not to be confused with the chocolate soy milk flavor), which is a rarity in these parts of the city. The latter is a eating habit I've picked up on recently. The spicy bamboo serves as an excellent side to white rice. When time is low and Mommy is too pressed for time to come up with a fun dinner, these bamboo shoots can literally spice up a bland meal.
But then there are the extremely narrow aisles. Standing side by side in a Boss Supermarket aisle, you may be able to fit one average sized man and a slender praying mantis. Imagine a clumsy person trying to shop here with a grocery list in hand. Not an excellent experience. Yet, it's not so much the claustrophobic layout that annoys me. It's the other shoppers.
Cody, growing up in the Sunset you'll meet a lot of older folks from Grandmama's generation, perhaps slightly older. In these parts of Noriega especially, they may lug around a grocery cart and fashion an abnormally large visor. Tennis shoes ideal for walking, multi-purpose windbreaker, and the double facemask round out their staple. Everything about them screams utility and efficiency, and they bring that mentality straight into the narrow aisles of Boss supermarket.
Sometimes, and I mean sometimes in a very frequent sort of way, they value their need for efficiency over their respect of my personal space. They may squeeze around the back of me without uttering a word. Bumps and nudges like they're jostling in the box for a rebound. And the most egregious -- overt cutting in line with no regard for me and my six pack of vitasoy and jar of spicy bamboo shoots.
It annoys me. It shouldn't. I'm not really hurt when their elbows scrape across my arm. I can very well afford the 30 additional seconds I stand waiting in line when they dart in front of me at the cash register. But I am. I am annoyed. I am annoyed that people can be so narrow in their thinking that they see only themselves. That they disregard others in their vicinity, their community. So narrow in their thinking they think of no one but themselves. And as I'm writing this, it annoys me that I didn't realize that this applied to myself as well.
Cody, part of our community are the older folks from Grandmama's generation. For those folks, they lived in a generation past, an ocean away, a world apart. Stories from Grandmama and Great Gramps tell me that it was a world without luxury, and at times too often, a world without food. For many, it was a constant scrap for the next meal, or even just the next bite. An 'excuse me' sounds most out of place when everyone has acknowledged that there is a fight for the next handful of rice. If I am not so narrow in my thinking that I think of no one but myself, then I may have been more understanding of how experiences can shape our upbringing. That superficial manners are far from a judge of character. If my thinking were not so narrow, then perhaps I would realize I am the one who is disregarding others in my community.
Upon reflection, it is obvious that I can do better. Easier said than done, my son. When I am annoyed, I am annoyed. In a flash of a moment, it may be hard to hide my scowl as another person cuts me in line at Boss Supermarket. I tell you this in hopes that you can do better than your old man. Maybe with this understanding in your pocket, you grow up to be more charitable to what I wrongfully perceived as 'discretions'. And maybe when I fail to hide my displeasure by the cash register, you can tug on my arm as your discreet signal to remind your dad to check himself.
Maybe. Or maybe that will be asking too much of you. How about this? When we go to Boss together, we will look around, and naturally I would think, we would be reminded that we should not allow our thinking to be as narrow as the aisles that surround us.
Love always,
Daddy
