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When I was little, my grandma used to say, “Think before you open your big mouth and get in trouble.” Usually, she was right. But this time, opening my mouth without thinking changed everything.
I work as a bagger at Publix, two days a week after school and most weekends. You get to know the customers, who wants you to fill up their reusable bags and who can’t lift anything heavy, who sneaks you a dollar and which ones want to remind you of Publix’s fabled “no tipping” policy after you bust your butt loading bags of ice into their Mercedes SUV.
Mr. Louis is one of the good ones. Every Sunday, he comes in after church. He’s about seventy, maybe older, skinny guy with a shiny bald head, a limp, and a Haitian accent. He used to teach music, so he always asks me about chorus, my passion. So, even though I was having a bad day with aching feet and a smashed phone I couldn’t afford to fix, I smiled when I saw him.
“How is the school chorus going, Jacaranda?” he asked me.
He always brought two reusable bags, which he’d washed and even mended a couple times. I tried to put the heavy items like milk in the one that was in better shape, so it wouldn’t break through from the weight.
“Good,” I told him. “Trying for a solo in the spring concert.” This time he had eggs, which made things tricky. I wanted to put them in their own plastic bag, but he was very picky about always using the reusable ones. But he loved talking about music, and so did I.
“You don’t say.” He nodded. “I am glad to hear they still have concerts in our schools. The government always wants to cut, cut, cut the arts.”
I wondered if that was why he’d stopped working. No, he was old. I said, “Well, we made it through this year. We’ll see about next. Do you mind if I put the eggs in a plastic bag?”
“I do mind,” he said. “I brought reusable ones for a reason.”
“We recycle. You can bring them back.” Though I knew what he would say.
“Reduce, reuse, recycle—in that order. Those eggs will fit in my bags.”
“Okay!” I nestled them in next to the toilet paper for cushioning.
“Your mother must be very proud,” he said.
I winced since I don’t hear much from my mother. But I turned it into a smile. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“What is the song called?”
“Well, I’m trying for all the solos, but the one I hope to get is called ‘Lost in the Night.’” I added a can of mixed veggies to the bag with the milk. “You be sure to get your vitamin D, Mr. Louis. It’s important for bone health at your age.”
He waved his hand. “I get plenty. How about you sing me some of that song?”
“I can’t do that here, sir. I have a very strong voice, and it’s a loud song.” I added some yogurts to the bag with the eggs.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“They would.” I gestured to everyone else in the store.
“Then sing something else. Make an old man’s day.”
I laughed, remembering that when I was little and my grandma was alive, I used to stay with her when my mother was “busy” (meaning high). Granny’s kitchen was always clean and smelled like Pine-Sol and cooking. She sang all the time, and one of the things she sang was this old Publix jingle. I missed her. So I started singing, “Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!”
The cashier, Maria, looked at me weird, but Mr. Louis clapped and said, “Sing it, girl!”
The second time, I put a little Beyoncé energy into it. If Bey was, you know, a bagger at Publix. “Publix, where shopping is a pleasure.” I riffed on that a few more times, channeling Gaga next, “Pa-pa-pa-Publix! Where shopping is a pleasure!” Then I really began to improvise, looking around and singing about everything I saw.
Little Maria rings up your food
Come to Publix and lighten your mood
I’d come every day if I could
Come to Publix, where everything’s good.
Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!
Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!
Mr. Louis was laughing. He began singing along with me, adding some beebops and skee-wahs, like accompaniment. The old guy was good!
Bread starts baking at seven each day
Come to Publix and you’ll wanna stay
Andrew’s in charge at the deh-lay
Too much salami, you’ll get a big bell-ay.
Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!
Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!
By then, everyone had stopped what they were doing. Some guy was even filming, and lots were clapping along.
Come get some sushi rolled by Haruko
Fish is brain food, so eat it and you’ll know
Publix is tops from head to toe
The bakery manager’s name is Jo.
Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!
Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!
On the last one, I gestured to Mr. Louis. “Big finish!” We harmonized, “Publix, where shopping is a pleasure!”
We finished, and everyone clapped. That’s when I started being a little self-conscious. I looked down and waited for Mr. Louis to pay while I packed up the last of his BOGO Oscar Mayer wieners. I hoped no one noticed me blushing. I put the bags in his cart.
“Shall we go?”
I always took the old people’s groceries all the way out to their cars, even if they only had two bags. Especially Mr. Louis with his limp. So there was no way out of it now.
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed me.
I tried to act normal. “How are your grandchildren?” I thought I remembered their names. “James and Patricia?”
“Oh!” He grinned wide. “Patricia is finishing kindergarten, and she is already reading books—thick books.” He held his fingers an inch apart to indicate how thick her books were.
“That’s wonderful. And what about—?”
“Excuse me, miss.” It was the guy who’d been filming me. He was out of breath, like he’d been chasing me. “You have a beautiful voice.”
“Thank you.” I started to turn away. Creepers trying to pick me up in the parking lot was nothing new, and they’re always hella old. This one looked in his twenties and was wearing a University of Miami T-shirt, but I’ve had guys twice that ask for my number. Not happening.
“I was trying to see your name.” He glanced at my chest. “Is it Jacqueline? Jocelyn?”
“It’s Jacaranda, like the tree.” I didn’t want to give out my name, but it was on my name tag for all to see, and I didn’t want him to tell the manager I got salty.
“Jacaranda, like the tree?” He looked puzzled.
“The purple trees?” I said. “They’re in bloom now. And they were blooming when I was born. That’s why I’m named that.” My sixteenth birthday had just passed, not that I had a party or anything.
“Oh, uh . . .” College Boy looked like he was going to say something else.
“I have to help this gentleman with his bags. If you’ll excuse me.” I saw Mr. Louis’s old Civic, parked real far. He should get a handicapped tag.
“Sure,” the guy said. “Thanks.”
I put Mr. Louis’s bags on the floor of the backseat, where he liked them, and he handed me a dollar. I tried to refuse, but he waved me off.