All the Wrong Reasons

Super Bowl Sunday.

I'll give it a miss. To say I'm not much of a football fan is an understatement. I don't even know who's playing. Better to spend the day foraging for a new microwave and take advantage of everybody else in Houston watching the game; the stores should be empty!

Don't ask me why I'm looking forward to shopping after the experience I had in Kroger the other day.

Electrified shelves.

I guess the vegie section is grounded, organically speaking, that is. I got through that OK. The fruits and vegetables gave me no static. But down the chip aisle things took a definite turn for the worse. Now, I'll admit that I shouldn't be buying chips, bad for you and all that, but I heard those voices in my head singing "Chips, ahoy, matey!" and I couldn't resist.

I should have resisted. As my hand closed around a Double Saver bag of South of the Border Restaurant Style, a bolt of lightning a full six-inches long leapt from the shelf, into my index finger, across my kidneys and down to my left knee.

"Ouch-y, wa wa, ouevos rancheros, chingata!", and I don't even speak Spanish. Several people near me muttered "Buenos dias.", and shuffled off.

Freak accident, I thought. Later in the condiments aisle I reached for a jar of mayo, not on my shopping list, but the opportunity presented itself when

ZOT! Ten thousand volts, if a volt short, hopped from the shelf into my outstreatched hand, straight through my heart, down my spine and into my shorts. "Oh, my god!", I yelped as I dropped to my knees, "Jesusss Aiche Christttt, Oh Baby That Hurt so Good!" Alarmed by my outburst, a lady in a wheel chair got up and sprinted towards the door. I guess my prayer worked.

(Mental note: Buy a big tent and reserve the city park in Beaumont. There's healin' to be done. PTL.)

Further on I tried some experiments. I stood in front of the hot sauce selection. There it was, Pace Picante with Lime (medium). Sweat dripped from my palms. I knew that would only serve to increase conductivity. With shaking hand I reached out, slowly grasped the bottle and withdrew it from the shelf. Unshocked. I dropped it in my cart and breathed heavily.

"What's wrong with that man, Mommy?", a little voice piped.

"He's an unfortunate person", Mommy answered, "He's doing the best he can. We'll pray for him."

Oh, great, I thought, here I cured a cripple on the maoynnaise aisle and now they're praying for me. What's next?

I turned around and my cart was gone.