All I wanted was sesame sticks out of the bulk bin. Not even garlic sesame sticks, or curry cashews, or anything more complicated. Just plain, old sesame sticks.
But these two elderly women were in my way, fussing around each other at the Co-op’s bulk bins, making soft grunting noises as they each searched for the key items they were looking for.
One of them stopped, lifted up a plastic container off the shelf between the upper and lower set of bins. I’d seen those containers. There were maybe 15 or 20 of them, arranged at random along the wall of bulk items. I’d seen the label. I’d rolled my eyes and set them down.
“Black walnuts?” one of the women said.
“Oh, yes,” said the other. “They’re very good. Some people don’t like the taste, but I do. I do very much.”
“I’ve never heard of black walnuts,” said the first woman.
“They’re local,” said the second woman. “They only grow around here. Very special.”
The first woman held a container up to the light, peering in at the pieces through the clear plastic. “Very special?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of them.”
I hovered around the sesame sticks, waiting until they left. Then I looked over each shoulder, just in case anyone was watching.
Then I slid one of the containers in my basket and headed for the cashier.