Beans and bean-counters

It all started as I was gazing at the rutabagas. I'm not sure I'll ever utter that sentence again, but that is, for real, how it started. I mean, it was incidental that I was looking at rutabagas. I actually was just wandering the produce section with Paul looking for something healthier than frozen pizza and Oreos.

With a quiet "excuse me," I edged my basket past the man studying the celery.

And then he spoke up. "Y'all trying to lose weight?" Paul and I glanced at each other. We're not used to striking up conversations with random folks in the grocery store. "Yeah, kinda," I offered hesitantly.

"Well, let me see what's in your basket." He looked over my shoulder. Three Cameo apples, three Fuji apples, three pounds of Cutie clementine tangerines, four organic Granny Smith apples (all for Paul), three Bolthouse Farms Perfectly Protein drinks (my lunch for most of this week), a pineapple, and a bag of organic celery.

"You are eating pretty good!" he said, taking inventory of our produce. "Y'all want to know how I lost 42 pounds?" I blinked. "Um, sure," I said, certain we were about to receive a whopper of a sales pitch.

Boy, was I wrong. Instead, he told us how he has cut out all red meat to become an ovo-lacto vegetarian. (True quote: "Without red meat, it's actually a joy going to the bathroom.") One topic led to another, and we spent the next hour (no joke) standing between the cauliflower and bell peppers talking about the environment, HAARP, truck-stop bathrooms and everything in between.

At one point, I looked over at his basket and counted eight grapefruit and nothing else. He picked up a bag of certified organic pine nuts while we were talking.

His name, I learned about 30 minutes in, is Jack. Jack is a 47-year-old truck driver who ferries between Saskatchewan and the U.S. He is slightly balding with a ponytail and smells faintly of patchouli. He started dieting because his girlfriend threatened to leave him. (She left anyway.) He has had two semesters of college, owns a pilot's license, used to sell Christmas trees a mile between my house and the grocery store, and is a native of East Tennessee. He is extremely well-read and has plenty of informed opinions about the economy and science.

He and Paul discussed plasticizers. He and I discussed international macroeconomics. We all discussed amino acids and weather control and veganism and failed energy policies. He called me a "bean-counter chick," which I found amusing and somewhat flattering.

Paul later kicked himself for not asking if he's an ice-road trucker.

And after monopolizing the vegetable corridor for the shortest hour ever, we parted ways. Paul and I headed for the organic, whole-wheat rotini. I'm not sure where he went, but we passed his truck cab in the parking lot on the way out.

It was perhaps the strangest grocery-shopping experience I ever had. It's not often someone edges past Paul's fascinating paranoia that the entire world is filled with serial killers. (Have I ever told you guys Paul feared I was going to stab him in the leg on our first date? Truth.) Jack said he'd buy us dinner if we ever saw him again. I doubt we will, but I might actually take him up on it. It was a quirky encounter with a quirky dude and it'd be fun talking to him more.

... And after all that, I didn't buy any rutabagas.