The Soundtrack of My Life (Aisle 3)

Like most normal people, I pay very close attention to the supermarket soundtrack. The decision to purchase Swiss chard, Belgian Endive, or Massachusetts sweet corn could hang in the balance and depend beyond all description on whether the store sound system streams the subliminal tones of Smokey Robinson, the Pointer Sisters, or Carole King, to name just three of the chanteuses widely exploited in an effort to increase market share among people who delude themselves into believing that their income is so disposable that they can actually afford unfrozen vegetables.

For the longest time, I patronized only Stop 'N Shop because they played my favorite song several times throughout the shopping day cycle: "That's the Way, Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh, I Like It!" Truth be told, I would manufacture any excuse to go to the supermarket just to hum along loudly to the soundtrack. If ever I found myself wallowing in self-pity or sliding into a troublesome torpor, I could always be pulled back from the brink of despair by the realization that, surely, I was out of something -- dental floss (fine, unwaxed), pears, the tiny silver balls that eight year olds like to see on birthday cakes -- to the effect that soon I found myself sauntering down the garbage bag aisle belting out the music of my life.

But one day while I was struggling mightily to choose between Swifter Wet and Swifter Dry and weighing the relative pros and cons of each, one of those life-changing moments changed my life. The afternoon had started with such promise. As I stood there memorizing the products' potential health hazards (particularly for women who are nursing or pregnant or who may become pregnant), sure enough, the strains of the transplendant melody wafted from the ceiling tiles and I was transported to a Wonderland where everyone dropped whatever they were doing to sing and stomp their left foot along in unison:

Oh, that's the way, uh-huh uh-huh,
I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.
That's the way, uh-huh uh-huh,
I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.
That's the way, uh-huh uh-huh,
I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.
That's the way, uh-huh uh-huh,
I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.

I grabbed a mop and started to dance a tango, and as I screamed at the top of my lungs "that's the way, that's the way!" some malfunction in the soundtrack caused the lyrics to repeat incessantly:

uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh

In my naivete, I thought that there was a store D.J. who sat in a back room next to where they sold the lottery tickets who would quickly be on top of the problem and restore order in a manner befitting the magnificence of the composition, but instead, the skipping continued:

uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh

until mercilessly interrupted by the intercom:

Price check on Belgian endive a register 4!
Price check, Register 4!

Had that been the catastrophe ended there, I could have completed my Swifter transaction content and retired for the day, but instead the madness would not relent:

uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh
uh-huh, uh-huh

I dropped the mop and ran screaming into the parking lot with the massacre of the masterpiece still burning a hole in my ears. Did I retreat to my bed? No. The only cure was to wipe that tune right out of my head. I headed straight to Star Market where the strains of "Midnight at the Oasis" soon put me in mind of buying toothpaste lickety-split. The thought of gel v. non-gel was soon edged out by the soothing message of the inexplicable:

Midnight at the oasis
Send your camel to bed
Shadows paintin' our faces
Traces of romance in our heads

"That really speaks to me," I thought. "Send your camel to bed." Then and there I decided on one mint gel and one paste for good measure. "I wonder what they're playin' down by Sudbury Farms way, thought I, and I hightailed it over to the store on the other side of town, virtually none of whose produce (despite its name) comes from an actual farm, just in time to click my heels to the magic of:

Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin
Into the future

"Wow!" I thought to myself. I'm not getting any younger. Time keeps on slippin' into the future, indeed! That's so true! It doesn't slip into the past or even the present; it slips into the future! Who knows what the future will bring? I sure don't." Right then and there, I decided upon some blue cupcake holders which could come in handy someday -- you know -- "into the future."

"I guess I should try out the Purity Supreme," I thought. "You never know what musical pearls of wisdom will spur on my personal effort to yank us out of recession. "We shall see. We shall see," I murmured, as my car kept slippin, slippin', slippin' into the turn lane.

Why, no sooner had I set foot into the solidly middle-of-the- road market when I was transfixed by the musical sermon of:

(Under the boardwalk) out of the sun
(Under the boardwalk) we'll be havin' some fun
(Under the boardwalk) people walking above
(Under the boardwalk) we'll be falling in love
Under the board-walk (board-walk!)

It was the emphasis on the last "board-walk!" that really struck a chord. I had an urge to buy a plug-in plastic thingy that discharged a chemical reminiscent of a scented candle (potpourri!!), so I did.

"The perfect way to round out this perfect day" I decided, was to end up at the oh-so politically correct Whole Foods where the musical tastes ran to the decidedly progressive. No doubt, the subliminal sirens would guide me to just the right gluten-free cracker, making this world and my disgestive system better simultaneously. Outside where the shopping carts were piled up thoughtfully in the handicap spaces by SUV drivers whose vehicles sported "War is Not the Answer" bumper stickers, all was chaos, but inside, the universe spoke to me:

That Bloody Red Baron was in a fix
He'd tried everything, but he'd run out of tricks
Snoopy fired once and he fired twice
And that Bloody Red Baron went spinning out of sight

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty or more
The Bloody Red Baron was rollin' out the score
Eighty men died tryin' to end that spree
Of the Bloody Red Baron of Germany

Well, ten, twenty ....

I quickly bought a lufa sponge and a carob bar, and as I did so, I realized: "If music be the food of love, play on!"