Delicious, Disgusting, Decisions

Delicious, Disgusting, Decisions

Barbeque or Sour Cream and Onion. Barbeque or Sour Cream and Onion. The bags of Lays stare back at me from their spot on the shelf in the wide aisle of the supermarket. They both are pulling at me, yelling my name “Buy me, buy me” they shout. Barbeque makes an excellent case: “I’m tangy, yet sweet. I kick at your tongue as you lick your lips and feel that slight burn dance in your mouth. I am the life of the party, I will fulfill all of your needs.” Sour Cream and Onion come in with a sharp rebuttal: “I am amazingly creamy, even in my powdery form. My crunchy richness will amaze you, and then the onion will jump in to shock you, perplexing your taste buds, making you beg for more.”

This is me, at 2am, in Walmart. In my old, baggy, gray sweatpants with a hold in the left knee, my white tube socks (complements of my ex), my Nikes, and my favorite UCLA pull-over hoody. Hair matted, standing, or better yet, slouching, in front of my current best friends: chips. Chips oh chips, how I love thee. I feel my belly pinching out from my sweat pants, but choose to ignore it. My fat just needs more chips!

Now, a sane person would say, “Just get both chips.” Of course! An even saner person would say, “Go to bed, you crazy lady. You should be asleep at this hour!” An even saner person would say, “Dude, it’s pretty pathetic that you’re at Walmart in your jammies at 2am on a Saturday night.” To all of those people, I say, Fuck you (with a capital F).

I grab the barbeque, and head to the check-out line. Of course there are only two open at this hour, both with long lines. I wait, chips in hand, eager to get home let the barbeque prove itself to me. It’s finally my turn to check out. The cashier places my barbeque treasure against the scanner. Nothing. She tries again. Still nothing. Again, again, again, then again, then again. The dumb fuck really thinks this will work at some point. “Can’t you just type the code in?” I ask. She turns the bag around so the barcode faces her, as if this idea were a novel, confusing idea. She looks at it, looks back up at me, and said “No, the numbers somehow got smudged, I can’t read them. I”ll call for a price check.” “No, it’s fine,” I retort. “I’ll just get another bag.”

There I am, back at the chip aisle, once again faced with the barbeque and sour cream and onion debate. It’s as if I have to make the decision all over again. So unfair, stupid smudge. I grab the sour cream and onion this time, guessing that fate smudged the bar code, wanting me to make this choice. I take the bag, and walk back toward the check-out counter.

As I do, I catch a glimpse of him in my periphery. My ex, laughing his girly, giddy laugh, walking toward me with whom I can only presume is his new girlfriend, hand in hand. She has a huge smile across her face and giggles softly as he laughs away. Love and lust emanate from them. He looks up and sees me, and his facial expression suddenly changes from glee to utter mortification. My heart races, I look back at him. All of our moments together flash through my mind: our first kiss, late night Taco Bell runs, lounging on the couch watching movies, going from club to club dancing and kissing on our crazy nights. Then the last moment hits me: Him, over the phone, saying to me “I’m sorry, I wish I felt differently, but I just think this is the right thing for us both.” I see those moments, and they feel brand new.

I quickly leave Walmart, chips in hand, hurrying out, not caring that I didn’t pay. I find my car, and sit in the driver’s seat. I feel my bag of Lays in my lap. I open the bag, pull out a chip, and bite into it. I taste the creamy powder, feel the onion pierce into my tongue. I put chip after chip into my mouth, the flavor changing as my salty tears creep into my mouth. I continue to eat, until the bag is empty. I feel sick to my stomach. I get out of the car, empty bag in hand. I walk to the trash can. As I do, I see my ex exit the Walmart, looking around, preoccupied. Looking for me, of course, hoping he does not see me. I stand in front of the metal garbage can a few feet from my car. I throw away the empty bag of chips, once filled with such delicious delightfulness, now vacant, having left only traces of repulsion coating my insides. I turn back to the car, get in, turn on the ignition, and drive toward away.