ROUSES.COM
9
my rouses
movie theaters, where one takes great self-
conscious pains to try and become as flat
and thin a person as they become.
There is probably more incidental body
contact at my Rouses than most grocery
stores. At my Rouses, people say, “Excuse
me,” a lot.
Maybe I’m not making a great case for my Rouses. Maybe you’re
reading this and saying, “But I LOVE those big shiny helium
balloons!” and maybe I’ve made you think twice about coming to
my Rouses, but unless you absolutely insist on taking your SUV to
the grocery, it really is worth checking out.
Nobody gets there by SUV. Most people walk. Lots of others bike.
Some folks take taxicabs. Just as many take pedicabs. A couple of
my friends skateboard there.
The other day, a guy on a Segway rolled up to the front door.
• • •
Everyone comes to my Rouses. Or, more accurately, every type of
person comes here. Musicians and mimes; bartenders and barflies;
seersuckers and just plain suckers; saints and sinners; tourists and
tour guides; strippers and socialites; men in suits and men in hats
and men in dresses.
Women have on at least two occasions that I know of shown their
wits at my Rouses.
I guess my Rouses isn’t for everybody.
But then again, it is. Punks, priests and politicians; bikers, bankers
and buskers; jugglers and jesters all come to my Rouses. There is no
cover charge. Shirts and shoes are appreciated. The guy stocking
fresh fruits and vegetables always says hello.
Everyone doesn’t know everyone at my Rouses, but a lot of people
know each other. “Hey, how ya doin’?” is the password at my Rouse’s.
If you want booze at my Rouse’s, you have to ask the cashier to get
it for you.
Almost everyone at my Rouses wants booze. The cashiers never
complain about it even though you know it’s a hassle. Lots of people
don’t really know exactly what booze they
want so they follow the casher to the booze
counter and when she opens the door to go
in and asks what they want, they point and
jab their fingers and say, “That one. No, that
one! No, next to that. Down one. (Pause)
No, right next to that one. To the left.
(Pause.) Oh, sorry. Right. No, I mean
to
the
right. (Pause) That’s it!”
Everyone in line at my Rouses talks. To
each other, or themselves.
My Rouses is very popular. With locals and
tourists. Sometimes the line snakes all the
way back to the chips and snacks aisle and if
you want some chips or snacks — as many
people at my Rouses do — sometimes you
have to ask people to step aside or duck their
heads or lift a leg or better yet — “Could
you grab me one of those bags of Zapp’s,
please? No, not that one. To the right …
et cetera.”
At an hour before closing at my Rouses —
yes, even my Rouses has a closing time –one
of the cashiers will say out loud, “Baby, it’s
late; I’m ready to get off!” But then you put your groceries on the
counter — there are no conveyor belts at my Rouses – and she says,
“How you doin’, baby?”
You hear a lot people call each other “baby” at my Rouses. That
would be one reason I really like it. It doesn’t have the selection or
variety of the other Rouses since it’s located in a shoe box, but it
seems to have everything my family needs.
Ourneeds are simple.Our bodiesneed food.Ourmindsneedstimulation.
And one of these is for sale and the other is free at my Rouses.
Billy Royster standing in an isle at the Rouses Market
in the French Quarter, New Orleans.
