what's the story, morning glory?

Would you ask this guy a question? Does this guy look like he wants to answer your questions? Does this guy look like he wants to engage in nonsensical chit-chat with someone he does not know? Does this guy appear to be in any mood to listen to your inane inquiry about something he is purchasing that is none of your goddamn business? Know your audience, my friends. Read the room.

My wife, who has been in the retail business for many years, has this uncanny ability to spot an item that she knows she can turn into quick cash. From a mile away, her senses will draw her to something that, with a little examination and quick calculations, she knows is a good item to sell. Aside from her regular suppliers, Mrs. P often seeks out after-holiday sales, clearance events, as well as the random going-out-of-business sale to buy items that others couldn't sell. She will also do the "leg work" and track down rare and hard-to-get items (limited editions and regional issue stuff) as sort of a service for her loyal customers. And when she buys, she buys big, sometimes filling up several shopping carts with merchandise. Stores are happy to get rid of the stuff, to make room for more stuff that they will price too high and start the cycle all over again. Other customers, who don't buy nearly in the quantities that Mrs. Pincus does, are fascinated to watch someone stock up in the clearance aisle. And, even though it is none of their goddamn business, feel it is perfectly within their rights to ask my wife what she intends to do with all this stuff. Mrs. Pincus — who I maintain is the nicest person on the planet — answers these questions cheerfully, happily and with such utter bullshit that her fellow shoppers are satisfied. They will smile, shake their heads, click their tongues and move on — totally forgetting what they were just told because... honestly.... how is their life affected by what my wife — or anyone else, for that matter — is buying.

I have accompanied my wife on "buying trips" on several occasions. I must physically bite my lip when someone asks (and someone always does): "Oh! So much stuff! What are you going to do with all of this stuff?" And most of the time, each word in this question is dragged out to way more syllables than they normally contain. Mrs. Pincus will reply with a story of a youth group or a kindergarten class or early stocking stuffers (no matter what time of year it is). I, on the other hand, must wander off to another aisle, otherwise I will give a patented Josh Pincus-style smart-ass explanation, resulting in a sneer from the questioner or my wife or (often) both. 

Home of (National League) Champions

Today, Mrs. Pincus was otherwise occupied with a more pressing responsibility and her plans to visit the Team Store at Citizens Bank Park were sidelined. Citizens Bank Park is the home of the 2022 National League Champion Philadelphia Phillies. And, although they didn't win the World Series, an awful lot of merchandise was produced for Major League baseball's beloved Fall Classic. A good portion of these time-sensitive items are taking up precious selling space in the souvenir store and, come spring, anything related to World Series 2022 is as dated as the Revolutionary War. However, not everybody feels that way... and Mrs. Pincus knows it. There are specific items that appeal to specific collectors and those collectors don't always have access to the items they seek. So, not wishing to miss out on a good deal on stuff she can sell, Mrs. P sent me to the ballpark store as her "buying agent." I was instructed as to what merchandise to buy and in what quantities to buy them. I followed the directions I was given, although, left on my own, I would answer any extraneous questions in the manner in which I saw fit. Oh.... there would be questions. There always are.

At the store, I filled up a plastic shopping basket with a large quantity of different designs of baseballs, all emblazoned with the logo of the most recent World Series, as well as the logos of the Phillies and that other team from Houston that actually won the series. My basket was kind of heavy, as it was piled high with a large number of baseballs. A very large number. I made my way to the closest cashier and placed the basket on the countertop. The cashier began counting out the baseballs and ringing up my purchase.

The store only had a few customers. It was two weeks after Christmas on a Saturday afternoon at a ballpark where the next scheduled game was to occur in four months. Not exactly the makings of a big shopping day for baseball memorabilia. One of those customers took her place behind me in line.

And, here it comes...

She was a short, bleached blonde with a curled-lip sneer already plastered across her face. She cleared her throat, and with nicotine-addled vocal cords, croaked out her inquiry regarding my purchase.

"What are you going to doooooo with all those?" 

Approximate location of her house

She pointed a tobacco-yellowed finger in the direction of my now half-empty shopping basket. This woman was typical South Philly. I could picture her setting up two lawn chairs to secure the parking space that her grandson dug out after a recent snowfall. I could imagine her strutting in her living room in front of the television, a four-inch ash hanging off the end of her cigarette, while the Mummers marched across the screen. I could almost hear her defending the New Year's merrymakers for their God-given freedom to wear blackface and make fun of Asians. In my mind, I could see her coming down the front steps of Our Lady of Get the Fuck Off My Front Stoop after attending Christmas Eve services. I may have seen her on the six o'clock news excitedly celebrating when the city was forced by a court order to remove the wooden box that encased the statue of noted enslaver and historical oppressor Christopher Columbus for nearly two years. I'm almost positive that before she got to the store to question me, she had a PBR and a couple of Marlboro Lights for breakfast. And now, she was very concerned about why I was buying 60 baseballs... and my answer better be a good one.

"What are you going to doooooo with all those?"

I turned slightly in her direction and said, "Play baseball."

She sneered more. She wasn't finished. "Are they real baseballs or are they those foam things?" Why are these baseballs of such interest to this woman? 

"I sure hope they are baseballs.," I replied. I looked at her. She was holding a t-shirt on a hanger and a baseball cap, both sporting the familiar Phillies "P" logo.

"What are you going to do with those?" I asked in a monotone as I pointed right back at her.

"Wear 'em!," she answered indignantly. My question, nearly identical to hers, seemed to have insulted her.

She scooted behind me when the other cashier called her over. As she passed behind me, she muttered "Sorry I asked." The three words were dripping in sarcasm.

I didn't see this woman monitoring the purchases of anyone else in the store. I saw a man carrying a Phillies jersey. He wasn't questioned. A woman and a young girl were buying a plush figure of the Phillie Phanatic. They weren't asked to explain their future plans for the toy once they got home. Just me. I was interrogated. I was cross-examined. My intentions were probed by the unofficial representative of Major League Baseball Purchases - National League East Division. And what exactly was she going to do with the information gathered from her little third degree? Do I have a detailed file in some cabinet somewhere south of Ritner Street?

When I left the store with my paid-for purchases, I spotted my personal inquisitor getting into a car that was illegally parked.

Now, I have some questions.

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