(no subject)
About a week ago, I was making the rounds of my neighborhood, picking up ingredients for a dinner party. I'd found a great punch recipe -- a mulled spiked cider involving rum and cinnamon schnapps -- that I was going to have simmering in my Crock Pot for the cocktail when people first arrived.
But the first liquor store I stopped in had the rum, the Cointreau I needed for the dessert -- but no cinnamon schnapps. "Can you check in the back?" I said, throwing an apologetic glance at the person who'd just stepped up behind me. I didn't register much detail about him except that it was a "him".
The clerk checked in the back and came back, apologizing; nope, no cinnamon schnapps. "We have butterscotch," she said. "Would that work?"
"Nah, I really need cinnamon; I don't want to hold you up," I said, thinking of the other customer. "Let me just get these other things."
She rang me up, and I told her I'd just tuck the bottles in my messenger bag. "Nice big bag," she said, seeing it filled with all the other groceries.
"Yeah, it holds a lot," I said. As I packed everything up, I realized that the guy behind me had been holding a much bigger backpack. So I glanced at him again as I stepped aside, closing up my bag, thinking I'd remark on it.
And that's when I saw that the guy behind me, who was now approaching the counter, was Ted Allen.
I just blinked, a tiny bit surprised; I'd known he lives in the neighborhood, but I don't see him out and about much. He'd already started asking the clerk for his order and she'd already turned to help him; she clearly didn't register who he was. So I walked out, not wanting to disturb him with the whole "hey, wait, it's YOU!" thing.
But a half a block away, I realized I should have asked him where to find the cinnamon schnapps, because he was probably the best person I could have asked about where to find certain foods or liquors in the neighborhood.
But the first liquor store I stopped in had the rum, the Cointreau I needed for the dessert -- but no cinnamon schnapps. "Can you check in the back?" I said, throwing an apologetic glance at the person who'd just stepped up behind me. I didn't register much detail about him except that it was a "him".
The clerk checked in the back and came back, apologizing; nope, no cinnamon schnapps. "We have butterscotch," she said. "Would that work?"
"Nah, I really need cinnamon; I don't want to hold you up," I said, thinking of the other customer. "Let me just get these other things."
She rang me up, and I told her I'd just tuck the bottles in my messenger bag. "Nice big bag," she said, seeing it filled with all the other groceries.
"Yeah, it holds a lot," I said. As I packed everything up, I realized that the guy behind me had been holding a much bigger backpack. So I glanced at him again as I stepped aside, closing up my bag, thinking I'd remark on it.
And that's when I saw that the guy behind me, who was now approaching the counter, was Ted Allen.
I just blinked, a tiny bit surprised; I'd known he lives in the neighborhood, but I don't see him out and about much. He'd already started asking the clerk for his order and she'd already turned to help him; she clearly didn't register who he was. So I walked out, not wanting to disturb him with the whole "hey, wait, it's YOU!" thing.
But a half a block away, I realized I should have asked him where to find the cinnamon schnapps, because he was probably the best person I could have asked about where to find certain foods or liquors in the neighborhood.