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Wednesday, February 24, 1999 By Samantha Bennett
Ah, music. It unites us, excites us, calms us, inspires us. Our culture surrounds us with music, from the tinkling mobiles above our cribs to the hymns at our funerals. In between, there's the supermarket.
I realize most of us don't consider the supermarket a musical venue. I know I don't. But it's part of the tapestry of aural bombardment that also includes radios, elevators, other people's car stereos and being on hold. (I, for one, can't hear "The Girl From Ipanema" without feeling pressure to have my account number ready.)
There I was, coming around between the salad bar and the balloons, and the music on the store's sound system caught my attention. I think I noticed it originally because it had changed my pace. I'd been striding purposefully through the produce, but suddenly I realized I was . . . well I was sashaying, really. I'd let my head loll wistfully to one side. My eyes had gone a bit glazed and mournful.
The voice was Olivia Newton-John's, the song, "Hopelessly Devoted."
I hummed along with the first few lines as I sashayed up toward the canned vegetables. Such a catchy little tune. Don't suppose anyone will notice if I sing along quietly while I hunt for the chili beans.
"I'm not the first to know
"There's just no gettin' ohhhhh-ver you . . . "
Hmmm. I'm in pretty good voice today. Will people think I'm weird if I turn up the volume just a speck?
I turn the corner toward the crackers and Olivia's first big wail of anguish:
"But now
"There's NOOOOOOwhere to hide -"
As my lips are forming the words, I am startled to pass another woman whose lips are doing the same. Our eyes meet for a moment of recognition. Next comes a bespectacled woman, behind a cart with a child in it, and she's singing too,
"Since you pushed my love aside, - "
A young woman, examining a bottle of juice, warbles absently,
"I'm out of my head,"
It's all around me now, shoppers popping out from the paper goods, breath misting the windows of the frozen dinner cases. Faces come toward mine like snow at a windshield, inhaling to hit the next high note,
"Hopelessly devoTED - " Wait, wait, somebody's off key here, what am I hearing, it's - aha! - it's this lanky older guy. He's rambling toward me, he thinks he must be possessed, he doesn't know what's happening, croaking,
"To yoooooooooou!"
My ears are picking up shy but unmistakable little wisps of song all around me. It's as if I've blundered into a musical. I'm past the cookies now, and I sing softly and tenderly to the eggs,
"Hopelessly devoted to you."
Down the bread aisle, more faces, each absorbed in its own search, each faraway look hinting at some kind of subliminal shared trauma. Haven't we all cried, my sisters? I feel their pain as I select some hummus and shift my basket onto my other hip. A couple of poker-haired teen-age girls join the oblivious matron pawing through the baguettes in singing,
"My head is sayin', 'Fool, forget hiii-iiim,'
"My heart is sayin', 'Don't let go!' "
A man who has just boggled at them meets my eyes with a frightened look as I vow,
"Hold on to the end - that's what I intend to doooooo.
"Hopelessly devoted to you."
All right girls, let's look up from our lists and really SELL IT!
"But! now!
"There's NOOOOOOOwhere ta hide,
"Since you pushed my love a-SIIIIIIIDE!"
Back up the dairy aisle, fixing the cheeses with a look of anguish,
"I'm outta my head,
"Hopelessly devoTED
"To yoooooooooooooou,"
A woman clutching a greeting card and a bag of cookies looks past me toward the cash machine but joins me in a big finish,
"Hopelessly devoted to yooooooooOOOOU!"
I guess I stumbled onto a rich vein of shared female suffering. Either that, or Giant Eagle has a truly creepy new customer-loyalty program.
Samantha Bennett can be reached by e-mail at sbennett@post-gazette.com.
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