Make a Right

The grocery store closest to my house is a little neighborhood market run by Syrians. I love it. Not only can I get a quart of milk, but some labneh, a giant jar of tahini, and a chunk of sheep’s milk feta.

Last night when I went in, I noticed the ice cream freezers near the cash register (these people have the impulse buy thing figured OUT) were completely empty.

“Someone got hungry for ice cream?” I joked with the cashier.

“A lady get really hungry for ice cream,” she said. “She drove in store.”

I thought the language barrier was causing confusion.

“What?”

“Her car, she drove in store.” She pointed to the front doors, which were boarded up.

“WHAAAAT HAPPENED?”

“She get confused, she hit gas instead of brake, she drive in store, smash ice cream.”

“Was everyone ok?”

“Yes, only cashier was here, she was in back of store thanks God.”

“Was she drunk?”

Shrug.

“Her car come all the way in store, then she make a right and end up in front of milk.”

And that, my friends, is why the market has no ice cream. The most exciting thing to happen around here all weekend.