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I just need eggs

04/15/2015
The market on Ohio Street. Bangor, Maine.

The market on Ohio Street. Bangor, Maine.

The market on Ohio Street. 9:05 a.m. Sunday morning.

I just need eggs.

The clerk is the regular weekend guy. He looks like Moe the bartender in a quilt-lined brown flannel shirt. Talks like him too.

One customer I recognize from the bus.  A short guy with a big chin and little round glasses. He usually wears an over-sized Patriots football jersey but this morning he has on a coat. He stands off to the side and clutches a 16-ounce energy drink.

Another customer wears a cheap maroon wind-breaker over a fancy suit vest. He could be headed to an expensive champagne brunch or to clean out his garage. Hard to say.

I walk back to the dairy case and grab a dozen eggs, wait for the guy in the vest to check out and put the eggs down on the counter.

“Right they-a?” says the clerk.

“Yah, that’ll do it,” I say.

The clerk opens the Styrofoam carton and checks the shells. All good. He moves over to the register.

“How ya doin?” says the guy holding the energy drink.

“Not bad,” I say. “Looks like a nice day.”

“Ya, supposed to get up to 60 today,” he says. “Supposed to be warm all week. Lots of sun. The snow’ll be gone in three weeks…”

“Three WEEKS!”

It felt like he just reported buses were running two hours late.

“He had me until the three weeks,” says the clerk.

“I was hoping for three days.” I say.

There’s a pause. The guy takes a pulls off his energy drink.

“The Sox are off to a good start. Won 4 or their first 5…”

The market on Ohio Street. 9:10 a.m. Sunday morning.

I just need eggs.

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2 Comments
  1. Been there many times. One of my high school friends used to work there. Aya.

  2. John Freed permalink

    The Maine people are great conversationalists. Few words, but great wisdom.

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