Casual grocery shopping

Earlier this morning I went to buy groceries. Hey, don't give me a funny look, I need to eat too! And in order to eat, I need food. I'm not a thief! I legally obtain my food through monetary transactions at a regular store! Suspicious? Well, just go to my local Gross-ceries (Hey, not how I'd name my shop but it's not my shop either, don't ask as the owner is a weirdo but their goods are solid) and ask if they had a turtle shop there earlier this morning...

Anyways, the shop is pretty cosy, it carries most of the wares you'd expect from a shop that primarily sells homegrown crops, but they also have some pasta and they also sell beef on Friday. The weird things start when you consider the shopkeepers. How do I put this... The shop has a high turnover rate. Really high. I'm not making this up, but every single time I visited ever since my first visit, I've never seen the same shopkeeper more than twice. I'm not really sure who is at fault though, as the owner's choice of employees is, let's say, peculiar. Let me give some examples:

About a month ago, he had a hedgehog. Thing is, the (out of lack for a better word) critter was no hedgehog. It was a mix between a rat and a porcupine. Not only did it look hideous, it also had a treacherous voice. And it tried to cheat me with the payment. And it let its parents live in the shop while it possessed the sole right of manning the counter, almost as if it owned the shop. But the worst part: It was not only bad at math, it was also very clumsy. Because when I arrived at home, I noticed that all the coconuts (4) I bought were pierced countless times. Needles(s) to say, I was not a fan and ate instant noodles with coconut milk that day. And then went to buy more coconuts for my special dish (I ain't telling you what it is) the following day.

The shopkeeper this time: A giant ant. Really big ant. Humongous ant. Extra-large ant. It was almost as big as me, which naturally isn't that great of a feat to achieve, but in this case it's an ant we are talking about. No clue where the shopkeeper picked this fellow up. However, I immediately realized that we had a small issue: The ant couldn't actually talk. I somehow managed to order my coconuts (involved lots of pointing, thankfully the ant was diligent so it worked out), but the ant wasn't too good at controlling its mandible force and kept on smashing the coconuts... Utterly disappointed, I paid my share and then left with broken coconuts to eat instant noodles with coconut milk. Delectable.

Third time's the charm, I was full of hope and when I nimbly made my way to the store the next day, expecting that the shopkeeper couldn't possibly be worse than the ones the owner chose for the previous two days, I opened the door, brimming with confidence and burning curiosity. And what did I get? A slap to the face is what I got. Because I didn't get greeted when I entered the store. That was a first. You always get greeted when entering. Well, while that dimmed my expectations quite a bit, I wasn't down and out yet! So I walked up and energetically ordered "3 coconuts with neither external nor internal damage, if possible retaining that status until after purchase".

I swear I would have been as successful if I were to talk to the wall. The shopkeeper stared at me as if I were a horse (note that the store is too narrow for horses to visit, meaning horses can't shop at that place). Then he uttered some noises that my ears couldn't comprehend, which is quite strange because I received training to understand a lot of different languages. All the troubles resolved the moment I averted my disappointed gaze from the unpicked coconuts towards the shopkeeper though:

It was a blue platypus with big eyes and a fedora – common knowledge suggests that platypuses don't do much and unfortunately for me, this one was no exception to the rule.

I'm losing track (I'm sorry) and starting to ramble, so back to the main story we go:

Today's shopkeeper was a rabbit. A big rabbit. Very buff, the kind that spends his spare time grinding weights at the gym. With enormous teeth. At least 8 cm long. He gave me an indifferent look and shouted: "Welcome, toothless insect!"

Since I am educated in the culture of different animals and possess some, uhh, difficult to obtain knowledge, I wasn't too surprised by this statement. Rabbits are weird in that the larger your teeth are, the bigger your status is. This is actually common in history and that concept has been used many times, prime example would be the vikings connecting status to the size of the horns on their helmets (Source: Haegar). Since his teeth were super-sized, so was his arrogance. Sadly for him, this didn't apply to his, uhh, let's say... brainpower.

Unperturbed, I decisively ordered turtle food. He then gave me a funny look and asked what turtle food is. To which I replied that it's usually either salad or cucumbers, but I'd also be happy with dandelion leaves. This left him speechless.

"How do you surviv off puny dirt food? It taste bad and look weird, real man eat carrot!"

Now it was my turn to run out of words... I actually wondered what his brain matter was made of. Cabbage? Had to be cabbage. Contains lots of air and water, but not many other useful things if memory serves correctly. Now I didn't want to look weak before this guy! His cabbage head only valued strength! And he probably wouldn't let me off without countless more pointless words to hammer reason into his green matter. After thinking for a few seconds, I came to the following conclusion: While the correct reply would have been: "I don't have teeth, I can't eat carrots you vitamin filled smartass", I simply replied with: "It's for a friend who sadly lost his teeth due to old age, I want 3 carrots for myself of course."

He released a happy grunt that resembled approval of my 'excuse' and went to collect the goods. The more things he piled up on the counter, the surer I felt that I wouldn't see this guy in this shop again. He was a big rabbit, so he probably assumed that my 'friend' had equal needs when it came to nutrition. Here I wanted some food to last me two days and now I was left wondering if I should have brought my servo shell to help me carry all this. So when he was done after a quick 2 minutes of piling, he gave me the bill and wanted payment.

I wasn't too sure about his calculations, but on first glance I could tell that all the 'dirt' was... for free? The carrots were twice as expensive as usual though. Supply and demand. Who was I to complain? Not wanting to spend more words on his excellence, I simply gave him some money and started packing my new treasures. While waiting for him to add enough cabbages in his head to process the payment, the bell at the door rang. And there he was:

Chicken Norris.

Both of us severely caught off guard by this encounter, I swiftly checked my options: I was in foreign terrain and had my casual shell equipped (it's shiny, has golden lines and is beautiful in its entire design, fancy and shiny) so fighting head on was out of question, fearing that my shell could sustain some damage. While he didn't have his combat claws but wore boots (BOOTS! I'm still laughing, like, it looked comical to no end! The mighty Chicken Norris wearing light green boots lmaooooo!), I still didn't want to take my chances at fighting. It also helped that a muffled "No fight on my turffffff" (he dragged the f, was distracted with counting probably) reached my ears and made me remember that the rabbit was there too.

No kidding, the rabbit looked like some kind of special forces member. He could probably beat the two of us up while brushing his teeth with carrot juice. This actually left me with only one option: Evade hostile encounter at all cost and initiate the infamous retreat protocol.

In one precise and quick movement, I snatched my bag with my newly acquired monthly ration and jumped to my right while dropping some pumpkin seeds to my left. I was then carried forwards before my mind, still occupied with the loss of the change that I wouldn't be able to recover due to the dire circumstances, could process what was going on. In the corner of my eyes I spotted Chicken Norris, who had to have evaded to my left at some point and was now madly dashing towards the pumpkin seeds, completely ignoring my speedy evasion manoeuvre aimed to reach past his area of control. Before I could react, my mouth darted forwards and snatched something off the ground. Then I felt it:

My favourite chocolate, sweet seduction for my tastebuds, slowly running down my throat, carrying an explosion of happiness and warm fuzziness towards my stomach while flooding, no, overwhelming my mind with incomparable, indescribable bliss.

After experiencing severe distraction, I got knocked out of my daze by a coin flying at the back of my head that was accompanied by a "Yours change! Mister Turtle!" shout from somewhere at the back of the shop. Expertly catching the coin, I strengthened my grip on my bag while bolting the hell out of there, catching a glimpse at the slightly confused Chicken Norris before exiting and rushing home.

Only after arriving home did I manage to make sense of what went down over at the shop:

After completing a well-paying job a few weeks ago, I decided to invest some money on an info broker, some nightingale who sometimes appears on a small booth at weird hours, to find the weaknesses of my arch-enemies in case I need to avoid conflict. She told me that Chicken Norris madly craves pumpkin seeds, so I bought a small pack (very very expensive). From that day on, I always carry some with me. Turns out that this info broker also sold my information to the mad rooster, as he was perfectly informed about my weakness...

I might have to talk to that nightingale lady again...