Encounter at Fowlpoint

Perhaps it's just me, but I feel rather uncomfortable in supermarkets when they have in store demonstrators giving out tiny morsels of food.

Recently I was in one on a Sunday morning just before noon. There weren't many people about (which is why I decided to go that early), and as I came around a corner with my cart I see one of these guys at his little booth.  His easy bake oven is all fired up, cooking some type of chicken slathered in some sauce. Since there's nobody else around he immediately looks at me as I turn the corner and our eyes lock. Although he's feigning enthusiasm, in reality he just wants to give out all his goddamn chicken so he can go home to watch the Packers game. But I can't do it.  I just had a bowl of Shreddies and I really don't feel like eating glazed chicken. Yet strangely, I feel all committed now.

Part of me wants to dart down the nearest aisle to escape the situation, but another part of me wants to help the poor guy out by letting him do this thing. After all, my Sunday morning started about 9am, relaxing with coffee and reading the news. His probably started about two hours earlier than mine where he woke up thinking: Jesus Christ I've got to go hand out glazed chicken today.  

So, I decide to make a compromise. I continue past his booth and smile, at least acknowledging the guy. I get about halfway and then I hear the pitch. I can tell I'm his first of the day. He stumbles with his script and refers to his notes. But I feel for the fella. I've had similar gigs..in fact I've had much worse gigs.

Thanks to my university education, I'm wearing a bowtie in a supermarket. 

Anyway, I tell him no thanks, but I still feel the need to give him a reason. Sort of like when a hobo asks you for change. You tell him you don't have any, but you both know that's a lie. But I'm honest. I tell him I just had some Shreddies, with blueberries, hoping that will convey the idea that all that business just wouldn't mix with chicken. I still feel a little bad so I make a weak attempt at comedy. I ask him if I can take some to go. You know, instead of a tiny bit in a crappy paper cup, maybe he can cook me a whole chicken breast and wrap it up so I can have it for lunch tomorrow. As is often the case in these situations, he clearly didn't realize I was joking and frowned at my suggestion.

I was exhausted by this point. Instead of explaining I was kidding, I thought it was best to just walk away. I stopped by aisle 14 for swiffers. Then over to aisle 20 for cat litter. When it was all over, I walked out of that supermarket on that crisp Sunday morning, and never looked back at him once.