Maiden of the Corn

Well, it's been a while since I ran into any nutcases out there in the universe, but maybe it was because the God of Nuts was on vacation? Or saving up for a big whammy?

Last night, as I was cruising the produce department at the local Save-Away, I heard this frantic shredding and tearing sound. I turned around and saw a seemingly normal young Japanese woman in medical assistant scrubs shredding the heck out of about a dozen ears of corn. She had a bag of cleaned corn in her cart and was tearing, shredding, peeling away like a madwoman. I was so puzzled I was almost stunned.

She was throwing the shucks back into the bin with the other ears of corn, making a huge and to my way of thinking rude and inconsiderate mess of the corn she was leaving behind.

I wanted to say something SO badly. I circled the melon kiosk trying to get my courage up enough to approach her and say, "Is that how your mother taught you to shop for corn?" Or I wanted to say, "Can't you do that at home?" Or further, "Does the hovel you live in not have a garbage receptacle?" Or "Are you terrified of corn silk and wish to leave it all in the store rather than risk taking it home with you?"

I started to get actually pissed off about it, after pushing my cart around the potato bin a few times. I searched for the usually ubiquitous produce clerk to lodge a complaint but none was to be found.

I even tried to imagine that she was just checking to see if the ears were good. Of course, the rest of us just peel back a little corner of the top, but maybe her culture is different? Like maybe they don't have corn on the planet Slorgon? But no, she wasn't checking anything. She was furiously, frantically and downright viciously stripping and processing that corn right there in the produce aisle.

As I glared at her and swooped my cart around the peach and nectarine cases I was muttering pithy and devastating remarks to her under my breath. "What the Eff is wrong with you, Jap Bitch?" was probably the low point of my tirade.

It was then, steeped in a fugue of fume, that I noticed a nice young Soccer Mommy with her wee tot in her cart, staring at me with fear and trepidation. It was clear to me that she thought I was the nut! She thought I was the Crazy Lady in the Plaza de Produce!

I raced to the middle of the store and buried myself in the frozen food locker, counting on the frosted-up glass to cool me down and hide my shame.

I don't know why it is I didn't just run and tattle on her. I also don't know why I didn't say something pithy or even snarky right to her face. What do I care? I could take that little chick in a brawl. But noooo! I have to be all polite and scared and reserved. With the unfortunate upshot that I fret about it and fume for all to see.

Next time? Should I ever be so lucky as to see some fool peeling corn in the store and leaving a mess? I'm going to walk right up to her and say..."Shuck Off, Lady."