People often laugh when I tell them that I work at Sunmart. Not because I work at a grocery store, but because I work at that grocery store. The pre-historic, run-down mart on University. It's a store that no one wants to shop at unless they have no other choice. Because the service is poor, the selection is worse, the store's furnace rarely functions, and the atmosphere, quite frankly, it sucks.
However, one could scholarly appreciate this particular Sunmart as a microcosm of Midwestern-Americana. Consumer habits and the interaction of every social ladder could be easily dissected, as they are equally represented by the diverse clientele. Sure, there are plenty of normal, middle class residents that shop with us, but they rarely stand out in my mind. The people that do stand out are the teen mothers that dejectedly pay for their groceries with either food stamps or W.I.C. checks (currency supplemented by a government social programs). The non-English speaking immigrants and the obviously mentally ill. And there's the NDSU students buying chasers and drunk, old men loitering and asking for matches- of which we don't carry, to their inebriated surprise. There's also a disturbing amount of people with disabilities. Most of them are accompanied by a caseworker, while the rest ride in on the "fun bus", an umbrella term used to encapsulate the inflow of High Rise residents. They're bussed in by Larry, their red-faced activities coordinator. I've never worked at a place that could so easily put a finger on the disposition of people living under the poverty line.
Sunmart on North University is considered the bastard Sunmart of the Nash Finch Corporation. Collectively known as "Ghetto-Mart" by employees and customers alike, Sunmart #116 is an oasis to humanity at its most dire disposition. The store itself is an affable epicenter to its neighborhood in which it resides. Smack dab in the middle of the projects, these unfortunate bastards trod in from all directions in pursuit of Hamburger Helper and Mac N' Cheese. They hobble towards the store like a scene out of Night of the Living Dead. At night, Ghetto-Mart becomes Zombie-Mart.
In reference to the regulars, there are some that are notorious for either sucking more than others, or they showcase bizarre behavior exceptional to the rest. Here are some Sunmart shoppers that have solidified their stance in the "Sunmart Hall of Fame" for fucked up shoppers. Their story must be told.
     Banana man is beyond annoying. He accrued his name for coming in everyday and buying solely bananas. Oh Mr. Bananas! You in your trusty blue and grey sweater, your cotton knit shorts, rain or shine. Your stringy grey hair and giant, skeletal frame. The day you came in with no shirt left us all in stitches.
He makes us price check everything else and never brings his More Card in, despite each of us giving him a new one everyday he shops with us. Banana Man does have an interesting story. He used to be a professor at a local college, but then his wife passed away. His ticks and mannerisms portray him as a hallmark OCD victim.
     There's another guy that comes in every so often and uses his EBT Card (food stamps) to purchase a bottle of Sherry cooking wine. For you sober people, it tastes like wine made with ocean water. Truly awful.
Admitting the defeat of chronic alcoholism and poverty, he purchases a bottle to get his liquid salty fix. His taste-buds are sanded down beyond taste anyway. His nose pitted and deep maroon. The enormous bags below his eyes hang like raindrops, opening a window to how cruel this life can be. He comes in every Saturday morning from 6-8:00 and loiters in front of the store. His story has yet been told.
     The Ref is one of grand curiosity. He isn't a frequent shopper, but when he comes in, he isn't hard to miss with his football referee uniform adorned in full glory. It doesn't matter if football season hasn't started yet or that it's Tuesday morning, well before any game is being played. Will he flag me for not scanning an item? Will he penalize me 15 yards for not using the More Card?
     As certain as the sun will rise tomorrow, the Troll will be there with her nappy gray beard, distended, bloated belly buying ice cream and babbling to herself. Goddamn. No one knows where this crotchety old women comes from, but she waddles in with the same clothes, same ratty beanie, same familiar stench. However, it's the babbling that leaves anyone in proximity slightly uneasy. One coworker got the balls to ask her who she's talking to all of the time. She said it was her dead brother.
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