The Misadventures of Salsa Man

Imagine being thrown from a car. Okay, maybe not that. Imagine being inside of a car when the brakes are abruptly applied and your body ricochets between the constraint of the seat belt (which you hopefully remembered to click on) and the hard seat behind you. The feeling in your gut of "oh my word I hope my cheap Mexican food stays down" coupled with the seat belt cutting into your chest and the thud of the head rest is something we've all experienced at one point in time. Now, imagine again. Imagine you're standing on the end of a grocery cart, gripping the wires and leaning awkwardly over the groceries, when suddenly you get that same panicked, cutting, thudding feeling. The driver of said-cart decides to stop and reverse all at once and your poor body just cannot take the laws of nature pressing from every point. You end up bent over the cart, hands dented from the metal and feet trying to find their previous place above the small wheels. You regain your footing, peer up at the driver, reprimand them, and resolve to walk around the store. Your pride flickers and you of course don't EVER blame yourself for the ridiculous incident. Why would you do that? You had no control, after all. Just as I had no control over my incident today.
There I was, riding the end of the shopping cart down aisle 7, glancing over the peach tea and juice boxes, when David, the man of the hour, decided to give me the most perplexing minute of my life. I was suddenly jerked in all directions and heard a shattering. Once the inertia let go of me, I stepped off and followed David's eyes to the floor where a chunky, spicy, red puddle of salsa lay mixed with shards of glass and a sad little jar lid. We both exchanged looks, trying to comprehend that what we were looking at had actually truly happened. It was sad and funny and disappointing all in 10 seconds. The poor little jar of salsa just didn't have a chance against that tile floor, and now David would have no salsa. Then again, it was hilarious. Laughter spilled out as we peered down the aisle at the cashier who had obviously seen the whole thing and was containing laughter herself. I whispered, "cleanup on aisle 7", and David swaggered down the aisle to ask for help. We then turned around and all but ran out of the aisle, trying to escape our embarrassingly awesome disaster. With two more fresh bottles of salsa in our cart, we proceeded to checkout and headed back to campus.
The grocery haul into the apartment is always an interesting experience. You never want to take more trips than you have to, and therefore are suddenly willing to sacrifice several fingers and maybe even a few nerves in your arm just to get the bags to your table. It's idiotic, but I'm guilty of this self-destructive, overly-ambitious, bizarrely-independent behavior.
Like good neighbors, my roommates and I helped David and his roommate carry their groceries to their apartment. I was walking down the sidewalk, determined to make it to their apartment without the loss of my pinky, when I heard a familiar shattering. I turned around and immediately laughed out loud. David was standing over a jar of salsa, shattered on the sidewalk. Poor guy. Two jars in one day! David hung his head with a silly pout and handed a few bags to my roommate Macie, humbling himself to the point of accepting help. We proceeded up the stairs and I heard something drop onto the concrete stair. "Not again..." I thought to myself, as I looked ahead at Macie. But yes. Again. The second jar of salsa was rolling menacingly toward the edge of the stair. David saw it rolling to it's impending doom and shouted, "Salsa! Nooooooooooooo!" It was in slow motion. He dashed toward the stairway and just as the jar tipped over the edge of the stair, his hand clamped around the cold glass. I really don't think the salsa wanted to be in his possession, but eventually it was placed safely in the fridge with no more attempted salsa suicides.
I still haven't decided if David is lucky or not. Lucky he caught the jar and got a good story out of the store incident, or unlucky that he broke two jars in one day. I guess he can decide that. But me, I'm lucky. Lucky they weren't MY jars of salsa.


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