Poultry

This was a good music weekend for me but it got off to a strange start.

On Friday afternoon I was at my neighborhood Dominick's waiting at the checkout counter. I was zoning out, half-mindedly looking at the tabloid covers that seem oddly fixated on celebrity cellulite, when I overheard the little old lady in the babushka two customers ahead of me complaining about the price of her chicken. The bagging guy began to explain that only the whole chickens were on sale, not the whole chickens that were cut up. My mind went back to fat bottomed girls and then it was my turn.

I sent my envirosack and food down the conveyor belt, swiped my Club Card, paid my bill and then waited for what felt like forever for the bagging guy to put my less than 15 items into the bag. I even grabbed some and stuffed them into my backpack to move the process on. The person behind me with only three items paid and went on his way; the person behind him was almost ready to pay too. The bagging guy was taking his time and it became clear that he had something to tell me. As he handed me my envirosack he looked me straight in the eyes and said:

"Uh .. have you heard ...."
[I imagined he was going to tell me that Gala apples were $.10 cheaper than my Macintosh]
".... the bird's the word."

Apparently I've got ANNOYING MUSIC stamped across my forehead.

"Yes. Yes, I have heard that."
"I'm not surprised, because everybody's heard, about the bird."

And I heard him singing "awell a bird bird bird" as I walked out the door.
God how I hate that song.