I hate: the supermarket meet cute

On being hit on at the grocery store

Photo by Franki Chamaki on Unsplash

I am nearly finished shopping. It after 5 pm on a Saturday and crowded in my local supermarket. I steer my cart to the pre-scanned checkout and notice, on the other side of the bank of tills, a man staring at me.

He is older with a doughy face that looks like pale mounds of proving bread. I smile gently, forgetting the floral mask covering my mouth. But that brief moment of eye contact is his permission slip and he sidles up to me, the cash register between us.

“Take your mask down,” he says.

I do. And I do so instinctively. It’s the parrot response you become accustomed to making, the code of conduct we live by as women: random guy makes a request? You oblige for an easy life.

Mask down, he flashes a gap-toothed grin. “Yeah,” he says, “you’re beautiful.”

I nod. Continue with my groceries but he’s in the mood to talk. “Are you,” he pauses, losing nerve for a moment, “are you married?”

“Yes,” I said, not mentioning that I’m currently separated or the casual tryst I’d been a part of just that morning.

“Happily?” he pried, but before I could answer, he spoke again. “I like black women, me. More meat on their bones.”