The Adventure of the Gross Grocery

BONUS READ! - Chapter 1 of "The Family Secret"

You know the sensation of your feet pressing against your sneakers? No? Well, that's 'cause you wear shoes so much, you're used to the feeling. Your brain ignores the sensation. Over the years, it's become such a normal part of your everyday experience, that you just accept the canvas enveloping your toes. This pretty much sums up my feelings on the sarcastic creatures. I've seen them for so long now, I really don't give 'em much thought anymore.

It's no longer weird for me to glimpse, say a puffy, little creature riding the ceiling fan, a fish-like weirdo swimming laps in my washer / dryer combo, or even a giant salamander waiting in line for the bus. It's all normal. Completely, utterly, 'oh-there's-a-creature-dancing-in-my-oatmeal' normal. Which is to say, not normal at all.

So why doesn't anymore else see these creatures?

I know what you're thinking; 'cause I'm crazy, right? Completely bonkers. Totally mental. Off my rocker. Completely cuckoo. At one point I thought so too, but logic has come to my rescue. You see, these creatures know things I don't. They've seen things I've never seen. Heard things I've never heard. If they were a figment of my imagination, that'd be impossible. They'd be limited to what I know, see, or hear, and only that. But there's no limit to these little weirdoes. They're everywhere. And the stuff they've told me, I could never make up.

Right now, I'm halfway through my shift at the Java Hut Coffee Shop, inhaling the freshly brewed coffee and watching a creature named Ollie stack sugar cubes. Ollie's about the same size and shape of an onion, except for his eyes, mouth, and stubby little arms and legs. He compensates for his diminutive size, with a big personality. 'Ollie, the Opinionated Onion' is what I call him. He always has something to say.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Practicing," he answers without breaking rhythm.

"Looks like you're building a sugar castle."

"No, I'm practicing...for the competition."

"There's a sugar stacking competition?"

"There are lots of stacking competitions. Cups, cards, cockroaches. I'm entering the sugar division."

"Oh, I see. And where is this competition held?"

"Last year it was held on a boat. But that was a bad idea."

"Cause of the rocking back and forth?" I ask, humoring him.

"No, the splashing. All the sugar dissolved."

"I see. Well, don't use the cubes meant for the customers. That's not sanitary."

"I washed my hands," he says, picking his nose.

"Ugh. You're really gross sometimes."

"Stack, stack, stack..." Ollie repeats to himself. A few other creatures pick up the chant and, gathering around him, begin to bob up and down to the rhythm. He stacks faster and faster. Stack. Stack. Stack. The wall of cubes grows higher and higher.

Stack. Stack. Stack.

Achooo! One of the creatures sneezes.

The whole structure collapses. Ollie throws up his hands in frustration.

"Why don't you take a break?" I tell him, patting his flaky little back. The little guy gets so wound up.

"I can't," he says. "I need to practice."

"Worried how the competition stacks up, huh?" I pause to see if he gets the joke. Nothing. He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, blinks, and then returns to his stacking mantra. Stack. Stack. Stack. What a little weirdo. Oh, well. I've got customers anyway.