Shidduch offerings while on line at the grocery store

Just my luck to hop on the line that appeared to be moving smoothly until items that needed price codes moved down the conveyor belt. The nervous cashier fondled a tomato while looking through the confusing price code roller, I myself wondered if it were a beefsteak or maybe a tomato from the vine. The women who’s tomatoes were being fondled by the cashier was totally clueless, she screamed in old women speak, I saw 2.99 on the sticker, of course the sticker was long gone, lost somewhere on another persons shaky shopping cart wheel. When that ordeal was over it was cucumbers and so on, I watched with dismay as all the other lines moved steadily forward and I was stuck behind a no code fruit and veggie frenzy. I mentioned this to the frum guy in front of me, I said something about it being just like the passing line during traffic.

Suddenly he just turns to me and says, “hey what’s your name?” I have my hand out and introduce myself as Heshy, he is waiting for me, I did it on purpose, for I know these people cannot do anything with just a first name, after all besides for Yoelly, Heshy is probably one of the most popular names in Monsey. I watch as his face twitches in agony searching for another line, I offer him my last name and he pounces like a crow on freshly skilled possum, he is crawling over me asking me all sorts of Jewish Geography questions, of course so I shouldn’t be confused with someone actually from the area I tell him I just moved won from Albany.

He is completely lost, I can almost see his mind trying to think of some sort of thing to continue this already lost conversation, there is nothing. Think, his mind is saying, what can I say to this guy, because our cashier isn’t working any faster and I am bored. So how old are you? He asks and I reply 26, without even asking me anything else, such as whether I am married with children or a recovering heroine addict attending weekly sessions at the methadone clinic he asks the question! So you looking for a shidduch, in a New York frummy accent. As a matter of fact I am, even though I don’t know you and you don’t know me- I wanted to add. Give me your number he hastily adds so I can call you. Was he a shadchun? The world may never know, it was interesting though- until the cashier got to my loose ginger and garlic, then all hell broke loose.