My current sleep schedule is pretty fucked up as of late. I've been going to be between 4:00 and 5:00 am every night and waking up at lunchtime. Last night my night owl mentality actually came in handy. Being the day before Thanksgiving, also known as the single busiest travel day of the year, I was going to be driving Larisa to the Newark International Airport by 5:00 am so she had plenty of time to catch her 6:00 departure. She booked the pre-dawn flight for economical considerations.
Knowing that I wasn't going to bother trying to sleep last night before taking her to Newark, I just resigned myself to planning to stay awake through the night. A recent nostalgic binge for Mario 64, my ever-prevalent obsession with Wikipedia, and a handful of menial chores would be more than enough to keep me occupied.
At 2:30 in the morning I walk into the kitchen for a glass of cold water. It's refreshing coolness soothed my arid pie hole. As I leaned against the sink whilst sipping from the brim, I noticed the Pathmark receipt from a week ago magnetized to the refrigerator door. Shit, I thought, we were supposed to pick up our free turkey. As members of Pathmark she and I had spent enough money to qualify for a free turkey as long as its net weight was 20.0 lbs. or less. The voucher had printed at the bottom of last week's receipt. With Thanksgiving approaching and other affairs going on in my life (subjects for later posts) I had completely forgotten to redeem the coupon. I trudged over to the fridge, plucked the receipt and saw that the free turkey deal was only valid on or before Saturday, November 28th. Unfortunately, I was going to be in Woodbury through sometime Sunday (I was going to drive straight home from the Newark Airport) and Larisa wouldn't be back in town until nearly midnight on Saturday, so there was literally no other time to go claim my bird.
Lots of stores are open 24 hours a day in my section of Jersey, which is a 180-degree turn from life in Williamsburg. And as luck would have, the Pathmark is one of them. With nothing better to do and a couple hours left to kill, I threw on my Nikes and headed out on a quest: Turkey or Bust.
A 5-minute drive later and I was walking through the front doors of the grocery store. There were only three other customers in there at 2:45 am, and probably 8 or 9 employees (half of whom were poor English-speaking Mexican floor moppers). I must admit it was a nice feeling to be able to walk around Pathmark uninhibited - not self conscious about the fact that I was rocking a grey William & Mary sweatpants with a green hoodie, no pressure to grab what I needed and get out of the way for another nearby customer, the whole sense of quiet about the place, etc. I might start grocery shopping in the middle of the night all the time, who knows.
I walked straight to the back where the deli and meats department was to grab my turkey. After a five to six minute scour, I still couldn't find one. I walked back up to the front of the store and spoke with a Pathmark employee about my situation.
"We might be sold out," she contested.
"I understand that," I replied, "but it is Pathmark's responsibility to have the item in stock that they promised me via a free coupon. If they're out of stock then I am owed a raincheck for one free turkey, regardless of whether I pick it up tomorrow or a week from now past the original coupon's expiration date." I was not walking out without a fucking turkey.
She conceded. "Let me call the manager up to the front. One minute please."
Employee of the Month buzzes Manager on the speaker system.
"It'll be a minute of two; he's in the back office doing paperwork. You'll see him though, he's wearing a hat," she finished.
A hat? I was hoping that some man was going to pop out from behind an aisle wearing a sombrero or fez, something ridiculous. That surely would have made up for any inconveniences I was experiencing. No such luck; the guy walked out wearing a baseball cap. After a brief explanation of my situation, I found out that I had been looking in the wrong place for the turkeys. They were with the frozen foods, all piled into a refrigerated red bin in the middle of the aisle. Well, that explained it.
I did a cursory search of the available turkeys (in other words, I checked each of their net weights) and snagged the one just shy of 20 pounds. Hell yes. I returned to the check-out, gave her my receipt, got my bird and split. At this point it was about 3:00 am and their was another hour and 40 minutes until I had to take Larisa to the airport. Plus, I was going to drive home from there, so I knew I had several more hours (minimum) of required alertness. On the way home I stopped in a 24-hour Dunkin' Donuts. I figured that I'd be the only one there. Wrong. This particular DD was right across the street from a Sports Bar, and so the late teens/young 20s crowd (I don't think the bar ID'd) were wasted and hanging out not only inside the store but also in the parking lot. Whatever, I mused, I came here for coffee and I'm not gonna let these goth looking 'tards get in my way.
Some girl was laying on her back in the center of the parking lot with about six to eight people surrounding her. One guy was inspecting her ankle, which led me to believe that she tripped and hurt herself (like I cared). Once inside Dunkin' Donuts, I was forced to listed to shitty late 90s hip hop (think Ja Rule meets Xzibit) as I waited for the employee to come from around the back to take my order. One of the people inside had brought a stereo with them. Who does that anymore? I felt like I had warped back 15 years. After what seemed like an insufferable duration of waiting, the Indian man finally appeared.
"Large, hot coffee please," I ordered.
"Is that it?"
"Yeah that'll be it."
"How do you like it?"
"Black and bitter, like my women." Okay, so maybe I didn't say that second part, but I wanted to. The one thing I've learned from experience at DD is that never ask for cream or sugar if you can get some yourself. A "little bit" of sugar to them is 3-4 overflowing tablespoons, regardless of what size coffee you ordered. I learned that the hard way.
Coffee in hand, receipt in pocket, I walked back out. The group of misanthropes had dawdled from the center of the parking lot to the side of the parking lot and out of the way. What a brilliant idea! As I walked by them I overheard a snippet of their conversation. They were trying to figure out "whose car that is." Turns out, they were talking about mine. I know this because I heard the group's rocket scientist hypothesize, "Oh it must be his!" when I was about to put my key in the door. It's not like these troglodytes didn't see me pull in, get out of my car and walk by them five minutes prior to that or anything.
I finally depart Dunkin' Donuts with a coffee in hand and a turkey riding shotgun. Thirty seconds later I walk into my front door, pondering the night's merriment. I have seen the underbelly of Linden, and I survived.
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