I always go to the same grocery store and get the same tuna sandwich every day for lunch. Because it takes a few minutes for the deli person to make the sandwich, I’m always looking around for something to do. Lucky for me, I have found it. It is the grocery store’s suggestion box.
Each week, I drop at least one note in the box, and each one of them is from a very tiny person who cannot reach the shelves. The note demands equal access to all the shelves, and each one is angrier than the last, as the store never changes the height of its shelves.
Sometimes I make up stories, like the one about the fictional store employee who refused to lower the height of the shelves, telling me that the store’s policy was “anti-midget.” I’ve asked for stools. I’ve asked for ladders. And I lace all of the notes with profanity.
I’m not sure why I do it. Or why I stick to that one character. I think it’s the challenge of developing a literary character only through notes placed in a grocery store’s suggestion box. Or maybe it’s just my fascination with how the character changes over time. He seems to get angrier. And shorter. In the latest note, he could not reach the bottom shelf, which I believe would make him under six inches tall. He is now the height of Tinkerbell.
Sometimes I feel for the poor guy who has to open the suggestion box each month.
But hey, if they wanted it to stop, they could always make the sandwiches faster.