Like heroin

I’m picking a cheese when a woman pushes past me and clears out all the Boursin this Trader Joe’s has in stock.

“It’s twice the price at Gelson’s,” she says. “And this stuff is like heroin or crack it’s that good.”

“Wow! You really scored.”

“I know!”

We part ways.

In the chip aisle, we meet again.

“Am I dreaming, or do they carry Cape Cod potato chip?” she asks.

“I don’t know, but any dream that involves chips is a pretty solid dream.”

“They’re like heroin, like crack. That’s how good they are.”

“I don’t see any Cape Cod chips.”

She scans the aisle, eyes serious.

“I’ve got to have those chips,” she says. “They are addictive.”

“Maybe someone bought them all.”

We part ways.

At the checkout, we meet again, our carts arriving at the same register at the same time.

“After you,” I say.

The cashier asks the woman if she found everything ok. She mentions the chips.

“I don’t think we carry those,” the cashier says.

“Sure you do,” the woman replies. “I didn’t dream them up.”

“Well, what’s the flavor profile?”

“They’re potato chips,” she says.


“They like heroin or crack,” I say.

“So you’ve bought them here?” the cashier asks, face puzzled.

“No, but that’s the word on the street.”

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