At just after 6 a.m. Monday
morning, I stumbled sleepily through the doors of my neighborhood supermarket
and headed towards the greeting card department. I’d promised a friend that I
would buy a birthday card for one of his friends and then – as I’m wont to do –
completely forgot about it until nearly the last second. The sleep was still
crusty in my eyes, I still hadn’t fully accepted the fact that I hadn’t won the
lottery - as that dream had suggested – and yet there I was, entering a
supermarket first thing in the morning, because I’m a good guy. I mean, I’m no
hero, I’m just like, the best guy. Does that still count as humility? Sure, it
does.
Anyway, so supermarket at 6 a.m. One important thing to note: On my way to the
card area, I passed several people who were doing their grocery shopping. At 6
a.m., the hour of the beast, on a Monday morning. Who were they? I
wondered to myself. Those strange beings who inhabit the cleaning supply
aisle before the sun rises on a new work week? Why were they so desperate for
cleaning supplies? Were they germaphobic insomniacs? Serial killers? Ghosts of
people who died while shopping for cleaning supplies?
