I love a trip to the market as much as
I loathe a trip to the mall. For some reason, buying groceries has become a
sort of psychoanalytical errand for me, while clothes shopping remains a
torturous, demeaning experience at best.
Some might call my interest in strangers’ shopping habits
intrusive, but I would assure them that I do a great deal of self-analysis and
would invite anyone, with the proper qualifications of course, to carry out the
same study on me.
That afternoon I had finished my last session of the day and
stopped by the market to buy some mandarin oranges and a few other necessities.
The store smelled of freshly baked bread and human suffering. I knew it would
prove to be a fruitful visit.
A few feet ahead of me, a tall, young woman with dark hair
jerked a cart out and rolled away. I recognized but couldn’t quite place her. What’s her name? Sara? Sophia? Probably a
former patient. I exhaled with relief when she took no notice of me. To my
right stood a middle-aged man in a training suit and tennis shoes. He gazed
forlornly at the glass that seemed to safeguard him from the dessert display. Poor man. He’s obviously trying to get in
shape but he seems fixed on that red velvet cake. Poor fellow. Eternal is the
struggle between man and his desires. What weak-willed souls we humans are.
As usual, my analysis proved true. He called out to the man
behind the counter to box up the cake. By now, I had grabbed a basket and
decided to pick up some mini muffins before leaving the bakery behind. As I turned
into the cereal aisle, I caught a glimpse of Sara/Sophia (my mind was in a
civil war as to which one was her name) tossing a box of Trix in her cart and
gliding off again. I’d seen it a hundred times: fully grown adults buying
children’s cereals. I pitied her. I can’t
remember her case, but what a regression. I sense she’s feeling lonely, but trying
to perpetuate her childhood won’t help. So many people walking around with
unresolved issues from their youth these days…
I scanned the shelves and claimed three boxes of Cheerios.
(One must never find himself with a cereal shortage.) My next stop was for hand
soap and laundry detergent. Already browsing the aisle was a young boy of about
9. Further down stood a discreetly elegant woman around my mother’s age. The
boy stared perplexedly at the sea of detergent brands then, as if defeated,
settled on the nearest one and walked away, dragging the bag behind him. Too heavy for him, both in a literal and a
figurative sense. Parents these days either give their children too much
responsibility or too little. I’ll probably see that poor kid buying Trix when
he’s 40 years old.
After securing my soap and detergent, I was able to get a
closer look at the woman and her items, thanks to her preoccupation with choosing
just the right air freshener. (You see, I may
be excessively curious, but I am nothing if not professional.) Her selections
were typical: canned tomatoes, flour, eggs, whole wheat toast, a pack of
butter, yoghurt, a selection of fresh fruits. These items, along with her
dedication to choosing the perfect air freshener, confirmed my first
impression. The domestic life has subdued
many a passionate woman. Headed for a meltdown she is. No doubt about it.
My last stop was the produce section, where I went straight
for the oranges. Once again, I spotted Sara/Sophia. Oddly, she seemed to be
scouting the least desirable apples. One by one, she examined them, pondering
their brown spots, pressing her fingers into their soft exteriors and tossing
them into the plastic bag. This is too
much. I wish I could remember her case, though I don’t think anything could
explain such abnormal behavior. Oh well. I guess I can’t save them all.
Puzzled, I bagged a week’s worth of oranges and headed for
the checkout. My professional interest urged me to steal one more look into Sara/Sophia’s
cart, but she was now following me, apparently sharing my peculiar habit of
paying for groceries.
I stood in the line next to hers, trying not to look
suspicious. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grab two bags of Gummi
bears. A touch of sympathy threatened to interrupt my study, but I persevered.
I stared down at her items: Trix cereal, a bag of nearly rotten apples, sugar
free popsicles, gourmet cat food, bubble bath and Gummi bears. I didn’t know
quite what to make of it. It was clear she had serious childhood and insecurity
issues. Still, something didn’t add up.
Before I could delve any further, it was my turn.
Synchronized to the last minute it seemed, Sara/Sophia’s turn came too. I made
a decision: I would speak to her. In general, I didn’t acknowledge patients
outside of my office, but I simply had to know who she was and, more
importantly, her case.
We both finished paying and she turned towards the door. I
sped up my typical leisurely pace to catch up with her before it was too late.
“Excuse me, but haven’t we met before?” I asked.
“Well, yes, actually. I don’t usually speak to patients in
public, even former patients. But I suppose it’s been a long time, and you’re
sort of a colleague, too. How have you been, Ali?”
“Of course!” Of course.
It had been about five years. We only had three or four sessions. We had
gotten along pretty well, almost like friends. Her name was Dr. Sophia Laurel –
I should have remembered that because it always reminded me of Sophia Loren. “I’m
fine, thank you. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m good thanks.”
My senses of curiosity and politeness were at odds. “I don’t
mean to be nosy, but why have you picked out the oldest apples?
She laughed: “Oh, that? Well, I guess it does look strange. My nephews and I have
a fun, little science experiment planned.” We exchanged smiles as I tried to
make sense of this unexpected explanation. “What about you? Still living off
Cheerios, oranges and dark chocolate? Breakfast of champions!...And lunch and
dinner, for that matter.” If I hadn’t been so charmed, I might have taken
offense to her candor. Instead, I laughed with her, shoving down a vague sense
of irony I couldn’t define.
I watched her pass through the sliding doors before I turned
around and walked back into the store.
I had almost forgotten the dark chocolate.
