It's time we all talk frankly about something that bothers us. It cuts to the essence of our public selves and reveals the social duplicity we summon with alarming ease.
Grocery store sample guilt.
The other day, the local grocery store had a festival of free samples. Every aisle had an aproned person, pert and cheerful, standing over a dish of free food punctured by a toothpick.
"Would you like to try some cavern-ripened artisanal Gouda on a chia-seed cracker? They're handmade by monks in Wisconsin who pray over every batch in Latin. I also have a nice nondenominational Cheddar."
Of course you'll try it. It's free cheese. If someone stopped you on the street and said, "Dude, open wide, I got some Cheez Whiz," you probably wouldn't submit. But a nice lady in a grocery store with cheese squares? Yes, please.
You eat it, and then comes the parade of pretense.
What's the price? Yikes: $15.96 for a wedge that looks like the part of a pie chart labeled "People who actually buy demonstrated Gouda." You study the label intently, as if committing it to memory. You're not in the market for cheese right now, but when the need arises, this is definitely the stuff you'll get.
"Nutty finish," you say, and the nice lady nods. You both know you're not buying any cheese.
Perhaps it's a Minnesota thing to feel a pang of obligation when people give you free food. You want the server to feel appreciated. Strolling past, picking up a dice-sized cube of steak, moving on without saying anything — that's how they do things in New Jersey.
One table was touting a new spicy sauce. The samples were cold, and I felt a sudden pang of irritation. "Do you have any warm samples?" I asked, and was struck with shame. Choosers can be beggars, it seems. The nice lady fished a hot jot from the crockpot. I said it was good, and wondered: Where might I find it in the future?
She gave me a look like a '40s faded dance-hall gal who's heard it all. She sent me to the chicken sauce aisle, where it was right next to the Cajun rub I didn't buy the last time I tried to talk my way out of things.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who picked up a bottle of sauce and put it on a shelf a few aisles away. Sure, it was good, but it was $8.99. And the sample was cold.
Why do I think St. Peter will sigh when he goes through my application for entrance, and say, "Those promises you made to the cheese lady, let's talk about that."
james.lileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 • Twitter: @Lileks • facebook.com/james.lileks
