Serge shook his head. “Give me that.” He took the box and walked backward several steps into three-point range and made an arcing jump shot. The treats crashed into the cart. “That’s how you do it.”
“But, Serge, I don’t think I can shoot from that far away.”
“Give me the box again.” He paced to the other side of the aisle. “If you’re not a good perimeter shooter, I can always hit you with a no-look, behind-the-back pass, and you slam-dunk it.”
Serge slung the box to Coleman, who slammed it hard into the cart. “Like that?”
“You’re a fast learner.” Serge took the box again and began walking even farther than before. “The other options are the underhanded shortstop-to-second-baseman lob to begin a double play or, if the aisle is clear like this one, you can retreat as far as possible for a Hail Mary football chuck into the back of the end zone.”
Serge went as far as possible, then slapped the side of the box in his right hand and unleashed a high spiral that almost reached the air ducts and could be seen from anywhere in the store.
The box crashed a few feet short of the cart.
Coleman picked it up and slam-dunked it hard again.
Serge returned. “Now, that’s how you shop.”
Coleman stared into the cart. “Serge, these Little Debbies are all fucked up.”
“You’re right,” said Serge. “They should check those things before they put them on the shelf and hope we don’t notice. Stick ’em back and grab another.”
They continued, aisle after aisle, slinging and passing and tossing products, until the cart was half full. “Grab that cleaning product and look for giant ten-pound bags of sugar. It will become important later.”
“Why? Another inspiration?”
“You think I bought all that food-storage stuff back at headquarters just to keep leftovers great? We’re going to have the best Tupperware party ever!”
“Serge, I just noticed something.” Coleman threw a tin of mixed nuts. “The people aren’t giving us looks anymore. I mean not the gay looks. They’ve been replaced by these other looks.”
“You’re right,” said Serge. “Now all the looks are bad except without a subtext of butt-fucking.”
“What could possibly be the reason?” asked Coleman.
“You think maybe gay people don’t shop this way?”
“Serge, I’ve been looking around, and I don’t see anybody shopping like this.”
“It’s tourist season.” Serge lobbed a grapefruit. “There are a lot of Europeans in town.”
“They don’t do this in Europe?”
Serge shook his head again. “The countries are much smaller, so they have very tiny carts and no elbow room in the aisles to go Michael Jordan on the store’s ass.”
A few minutes later, the cart was nearly full. “I’m tired of throwing things,” said Serge. He grabbed an item off the shelf and set it on top.
A guy in a trucker’s hat walked by and mumbled, “Faggots.”
Serge turned around: “Hey, buddy, you should watch more
“That show’s really growing on me,” said Coleman. “Especially that one chick who’s always plastered.”
“I was particularly impressed by the Madonna episode,” said Serge. “ ‘Express Yourself’ was quite moving.”
“Oh, definitely,” said Coleman. “She’s not just the Material Girl anymore.”
“But you know what makes it the best show on television?” said Serge. “They teach the youth of America that it’s cool to be tolerant.”
“In real life, most of the kids on that show would get daily beat-downs if they broke into song and dance in the middle of the gymnasium during PE.”
“But not on
“Madonna would approve.”
“But here’s the most fascinating aspect of
“How’s that?”
“What could possibly be the answer?”
“They’re secretly in on the plan to help us all get along,” said Serge. “Fox News creates a diversion of fake anger so
“And that can’t be.”
“I know.” Serge reached for a shelf. “Hannity’s my hero.”
“Serge, why’d you put that in the cart? It looks yucky.”
“We need to balance the Little Debbies with ultra-healthy stuff.”
“How do you eat tofu?”
“Scoop it with Doritos,” said Serge. “That’s the last item. Time to check out . . .”
Chapter Thirty
MIAMI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
Civilization was breaking down again at baggage claim.
