I love one stop shopping, especially these days. For me, it’s a short walk to the Giant Tiger store on Welland Avenue, (get out and move those gams, girl!) With my trusty pull cart behind me, I head out for essentials like; food, bathroom tissue, (yes, they have it!) and rejuvenating skin creams. The staff are friendly, they call everyone “hon”, which I find endearing, and they are very accommodating. An assistant manager asked me how I was, like he really cared. After five minutes of my monologue, he had to go on an urgent call…but he apologized. Customers follow precautions for the most part, and line ups are quickly responded to.
So it was an additional bonus the other day to enter the store, disinfectant my hands, grab a clean cart and find myself at the beach! Huh? Well not the real thing of course, but as close as I’ll get for some time. The Beach Boys were crooning, “Surfer Girl”, on the sound system. Unless it’s a song that gets me, I don’t usually react to store music, but this wasn’t a one shot fix. This music was rock ‘n’ roll hit heaven from the ‘50s and ‘60s!
I sailed along down memory lane with my shopping cart, took a “Ferry Cross The Mersey”, with Gerry and the Pacemakers, then twisted with Chubby Checker as I perused the snack aisle. The greeting cards were a pleasure to read as I tapped my foot to “Shake, Rattle and Roll”, courtesy of Bill Haley and the Comets.
At the checkout line, people didn’t seem to care about waiting their turn, they were too busy grinning at a little girl twirling to the musical beat. As I approached to put my items on the belt, I could hear the plaintive cry of a ticked off Connie Francis, whose rat of a boyfriend returned to her at the record hop with lipstick on his collar. I hadn’t heard that song in years!
Once home, I dutifully put my goods away, still humming her song. I was pleased that she dumped the creep. Not like Lesley Gore who just chalked it up to male testosterone, (“That’s The Way Boys Are”). Grrrrr. It was silly fun singing all the words to myself, dancing a bit as I went about my afternoon.
At one a.m. I woke up. Connie was still singing me her lipstick story. My sympathy for her was fast evaporating. Then I recalled something I read about “ear worm”. It seemed I was locked into a repetitive song reel. The article suggested replacing this tune with another. “At The Hop” by Danny and the Juniors, was the first one that came to my mind.