potatoes into the cart. He realized that under normal circumstances fifty pounds of potatoes may seem excessive, but a lake monster such as his future father-in-law could eat baked potatoes like it was his job. For all he knew, it was his job. Or was he retired? He really did not know much about his future father-in-law other than he was dark green, perpetually damp, and vaguely reptilian in appearance. His future mother-in-law, on the other hand, was easy to shop for. Being a yeti, she had similar tastes to Bigfoot and the other sasquatches, although she did prefer her food chilled.
Bigfoot began to hum absentmindedly as he pushed the shopping cart along the aisles, grabbing items here and there and placing them into the cart. Soon he realized that he had been humming along with the song that had been playing quietly over the store’s speaker system the whole time. He furrowed his brow, deep in thought, as he considered the way his subconscious mind had not only recognized the song, but instructed his vocal chords to hum along to it without his conscious mind even being aware of it happening.
The song was a one hit wonder from decades back by a sea-serpent band called Flock of Sea Serpents. It had been quite popular for a summer during Bigfoot’s adolescence, and then it had developed that strange mix of kitschy nostalgia and genuine sentimentality that only one hit wonders could attain. It was called “I’d Slither The Seven Seas To See You Smile”, and the title explained the basic premise of the song. The main figure in the song was willing to do tasks of escalating difficulties and varying levels of sanity, culminating with slithering the seven seas for a smile from a lover who no longer felt the spark that young loves lose so easily.
The song doubled as a metaphor for the Flock of Sea Serpents career, Bigfoot thought, pausing in the cereal aisle as this epiphany made itself apparent. Their rise was meteoric, similar to the love shared between the young couple in the song, but as they tried to secure their next hit on the charts, they became increasingly desperate, finally resorting to a variety show set at sea that was based off their only hit song.
Bigfoot tried not to think about the Flock of Sea Serpents’ later career. He preferred to reflect on the afternoons spent listening to the song while evading people at the beach, or an early morning singing the song under his breath while being captured in grainy, low resolution photographs from afar by cryptozoologists and conspiracy theorists as he made his way home from his first date. Songs just could not make him feel that way anymore.
“Excuse me!” a wood nymph bellowed in a high pitched squeak from around Bigfoot’s knees. It could not get its cart around him. In his silent reverie he had been standing idle right in the middle of the aisle.
“I’m sorry,” Bigfoot mumbled, moving his cart as far as he could toward the wall of cereal. The wood nymph stomped past without acknowledging Bigfoot’s apology. Bigfoot sighed and continued his shopping, placing a box of cereal called Trollio’s into his cart. It wasn’t his favorite cereal, which was Sugar Frosted Maple Syrup Flakes, but his fiancé had convinced him to switch to the Trollio’s. That particular cereal had one third of the sugar of the Sugar Frosted Maple Syrup Flakes, but only one eighth the taste.
She was right to convince him to switch cereals though, he thought. They wanted to have little sasquatches of their own someday, and if Bigfoot kept up his two bowl per day habit with his beloved Sugar Frosted Maple Syrup Flakes, he would find himself in an early grave. He did keep a box stashed under a rock in the forest, however. That box of cereal had actually been raided by a particularly voracious band of moles and voles months before, though he had no way of knowing that. He had never actually visited his hidden box of cereal since he hid it, but he liked to know, or think he knew, that it was there in case he absolutely had to have some of that sweet, sugary, maple-y goodness.
“I’d Slither The Seven Seas To See You Smile” faded away and a new song began, accompanied by the squeaks and squeals of the errant wheel on Bigfoot’s cart. It was another one hit wonder.
“Why do grocery stores play so many one hit wonders?” he asked the werewolf behind the deli counter. The werewolf snarled briefly, flecks of meat caked between its whiskers, its fur matted with blood. The deli surely was not the best employ for a werewolf, although it probably enjoyed it very much. It showed too, because this was a very portly werewolf.
“What?” the werewolf asked angrily while maintaining its snarl and presenting each one of its teeth to fearless and oblivious Bigfoot.
“One hit wonders… You know… Sometimes a band or an artist has a really big song or album but they’re never able to have a big hit again,” Bigfoot said pensively.
“I know what one hit wonders are, you furry dolt. Why does it matter?” the werewolf asked through the drool dripping down the fur at the tip of its chin.
“I just think it’s peculiar that grocery stores play so many of them. Don’t you?”
“Grocery stores do a lot of strange things to influence customers’ purchasing habits,” the werewolf growled. “Any critter that took a semester of intro-psychology at a crypto-college could tell you that! The colors, the smells, even the tiles on the floor are all designed to make you stop, think, or slow down and buy something. Of course the music is planned to have an effect, too! Every aspect of this place is appealing to your subconscious tendencies right now, and urging you to spend currency, you hairy oaf!”
“You know, it’s interesting you mention the subconscious mind, because only moments ago I was humming along to –,”
“DO YOU WANT SOME MEAT OR DON’T YOU, YOU VERMIN RIDDEN SCOUNDREL OF THE WOODS?” the werewolf howled at the top of its lungs.
Bigfoot sighed. Everyone was in such a hurry these days. Or maybe he was just slowing down and had not noticed that the world continued on at the same speed without him. He tapped the glass of the deli counter, pointed at the giant, raw chunks of Nurse Shark, and muttered that he would like thirty five pounds of it.
With the hastily and poorly wrapped Nurse Shark meat in his cart, he left the still fuming werewolf, who was eying every customer wildly as they went about their shopping. Bigfoot thought he heard him murmuring about one hit wonders to himself in that same growl he had spoken to Bigfoot in.
When he passed the prepackaged meats, he scanned the racks for squirrel meat for his squirrel meat sub sandwich. Normally, he would opt for the fresh squirrel meat, but today he just wanted a simple meal when he got home. Plus, he definitely did not feel up to dealing with the deli werewolf again. As he reached for a packet of squirrel meat, he noticed another furry hand was reaching toward the same rack.
“Oh, pardon me. Go ahead,” Bigfoot said softly. There were plenty of packets of squirrel meat, and he strived to sustain the dying art of sasquatch chivalry whenever he could. He looked over at who was next to him, and saw that it was an old friend from his youth.
“Bigfoot? Is that really you?” A chestnut brown centaur asked, squinting through its thick bifocal glasses.
“Mykonos! It’s so good to see you, my friend! What are you doing in town?” Bigfoot said through his wide grin, shaking Mykonos’ hand vigorously.
“It’s good to see you too, man! I came back for the squirrel meat,” Mykonos joked, holding up the packet. Bigfoot roared with laughter. Mykonos had always been such a cut-up. “No, no, I’m just in town for a few days for business. I launched my own line of centaur-specific horseshoes, you know.”
“I heard about that! Congratulations, man. I always knew you would do big things.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but really, it’s nothing too big at the moment. I have high hopes though. But anyways, how are you? Still eating the squirrel meat I see? Who would have thought after being fed squirrel meat sandwiches every day for lunch during our four years at the Cryptid Academy of the Northwest that we’d still not be tired of them?” the centaur said with a wry grin.
“Exactly!” Bigfoot exclaimed, chuckling. “Well, aside from the squirrel meat sandwiches, I make mine into sub-sandwiches now, by the way… I’m just living,
man. Oh! I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m engaged!”
“Yeah, I did hear about that. Congratulations, Bigfoot! My folks told me a few weeks ago.” Mykonos said, clapping Bigfoot on the shoulder.
“Be on the lookout for a wedding invitation soon. We’ll be sending them out in a week or two, and we’d absolutely love for you to be there. The wedding is going to be in the old marsh. You remember the marsh, right?”
“Who could forget the marsh?” Mykonos chortled. “That’s where we told all those jackelopes from Cryptid High that they could see a unicorn there at 1 a.m., so that we could go spray paint “Cryptid Academy of the Northwest Rulez” on their football field.”
Bigfoot tossed his head back and roared with laughter. He had not thought about that in years. “Oh goodness, Mykonos. We were wild, weren’t we?”
“Yes. That we were. But we were good kids. I think so, anyways…” Mykonos said, somewhat uncertainly. Bigfoot began to wonder himself if his childhood misdeeds had been playful follies or serious lapses in character. He decided not to dwell on it. Bigfoot had learned that it was best to leave the past where it belonged.
Bigfoot noticed Mykonos glance at his wristwatch, and said hurriedly, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“No, this has been great catching up! Hey, let’s get dinner while I’m in town. What do you say?”
“That would be sublime. My in-laws are in town, but they’ll only be around for another few days. You can meet my fiancé.”
“I can’t wait,” Mykonos said, bowing his head slightly toward Bigfoot in salutation. “I’ll be at my parents’ stable. Just send a message my way.”
“Will do, my friend. Will do. Take care of yourself,” Bigfoot said, looking Mykonos in the eye and shaking his hand again. As Mykonos was clopping away, Bigfoot called toward his swishing tail, “Hey, did you hear them playing “I’d Slither The Seven Seas To See You Smile” on the store’s speakers a few minutes ago?”
Mykonos turned around, a puzzled look on his face and said, “No, I don’t think I did… Why do you ask?”
“Oh,” said Bigfoot. Mildly disappointed, he felt the grin slowly dissipate from his face. He hoped that Mykonos might have been able to offer some insight as to why they would play one hit wonders in grocery stores so often. He had always been bright, Mykonos. “It’s nothing,” Bigfoot said. “I’ll see you at dinner in a few nights.”
Mykonos grinned over his shoulder and began to saunter away once more. This whole trip had left Bigfoot feeling very nostalgic, a feeling that confused him more than hurt or pleased him, as he had not fully come to terms with the past that it reminded him of. He shook his head briefly, as though to scatter these thoughts, and he placed several packages of squirrel meat in his shopping cart.
The only thing he had left to buy was bread. He was excited about this part. He approached the bakery section, straining to stifle his glee as the scent of warm, freshly baked bread hung heavily and intoxicatingly in the air.
“Can I help you, sir?” A female gnome standing on a tall wooden stool asked politely.
“Absolutely you can,” Bigfoot said cheerfully. “I’d like two loaves of the wheat, and one honey oat sub loaf.”
“Coming right up,” the little gnome squeaked, hopping off of her stool and walking to the giant stone oven. She climbed upon another wooden stool, opened the oven doors, and reached in with a long wooden paddle. Bigfoot became more and more giddy with each loaf of bread she removed from the oven. He watched as she lovingly wrapped each loaf in thin, off-white paper and tied them tenderly with twine before climbing back on top of her stool and handing them over to Bigfoot with a smile.
“Enjoy! Have a nice day,” the gnome said brightly.
“I will. I certainly will,” Bigfoot said through a small smile, raising the loaves with care and inclining his head toward the gnome before gently placing the loaves on top of the rest of his groceries.
Bigfoot’s stomach rumbled audibly as he pushed his shopping cart toward the checkout lanes, causing the wood nymph that had told him off earlier to tense up in fright. Bigfoot somehow willed himself not to smirk, and continued to the least crowded line. He eyed the junk food wistfully, its colorful wrappers practically pleading him to buy them. He turned to the magazines before he was too tempted by the candy bars and chips. He opened a copy of The National Cryptid and flipped the pages idly as the cash register beeped repeatedly while the creature in front of him was being checked out. The articles were absolute drivel, but still enticing due only to their shock value. Bigfoot hoped dearly that the article stating that his favorite film director, a goblin named Harvey Blognordivak, was not one goblin at all but a consortium of goblin writers using the same pen-name, was false. Just because Harvey Blognordivak preferred his privacy, was no reason to make assumptions about him. It was a feeling that Bigfoot knew all too well.
“’Ey, you ready or what?” A gum chewing teenage mermaid asked from behind the cash register, where she sat in a tub of saltwater. Bigfoot had been so engrossed in the article that he had not noticed that it was his turn to check out.
“Oh, of course. Sorry about that,” he said solemnly. He put away the magazine and began placing his items on the conveyor belt that led to the cash register. The mermaid cashier did not answer him, but began scanning his items with the same vigor which she chewed her gum.
“That’ll be one-hundred and eleven Crypto Units,” she said as she began to bag the groceries, slopping water all over the paper bags. Bigfoot made a mental note to hold the bags very carefully as he counted out Crypto Unit bills in his wallet. He didn’t have enough. He could feel himself blushing.
“I’m going to have to write you a check, if that’s alright?” he asked, embarrassed.
The mermaid glared at him. “Can I get a manager at my register?” she bellowed.
“Wait, what? Why do you need a manager?” Bigfoot asked. The mermaid did not answer him, she just stared at nothing in particular and continued to chew her gum.
“What’s the problem?” an annoyed, elderly, and very tired looking elf asked as it approached the register.
“Check,” said the mermaid simply.
“Oh, is that all?” the elf asked, its demeanor changing instantly. “Sorry, sir. She’s new and still doesn’t know how to receive checks. Not many people use them anymore, you know,” the elf said to Bigfoot.
“Oh, not a problem at all,” Bigfoot said as he began to write the check. He tore it out of his checkbook and handed it to the elf.
“Now, if you’ll watch me closely this time you’ll be able to do it for yourself the next time someone comes in with a check,” the elf said kindly to the mermaid. She was not paying him the slightest bit of attention, but she responded with an, “Uh huh.”
The elf explained the process, and went through the procedures, all while the mermaid continued to pretend to listen while staring off into nothingness. When he was finished, he handed Bigfoot his receipt and thanked him for shopping at their grocery store.
“Do you need any help carrying your groceries out?” the tiny elf asked.
“No, no, I’ll be fine. Thank you very much.” Bigfoot gathered his grocery bags, cradling them with care, and walked up the spiral staircase and out into the world. He realized as he began walking home just how hungry he was again. The thought of squirrel meat sub sandwiches, relaxing in his easy chair, and the warm embrace of his fiancé was enough to distract him from the hunger until he was in the lobby of the Crypto-Condo Residential Caves once again.
“Welcome back, Mr. Fo-… I mean, Bigfoot,” the lobby attendant banshee said with an embarrassed smile.
Bigfoot waved feebly with his hand still under the damp grocery bags as he pressed his shoulder into the door leading to his hallway. He paused when he reached the door to his condo-cave, took a deep breath, and affixed a smile to his face, preparing to see his future in-laws. He opened the door, but saw no in-laws. All he saw was his fiancé dozing on h
is easy chair. He was still smiling, but it was now real joy that caused it to remain. He felt the muscles in his stomach relax, and he tiptoed to the kitchen and began to put away the groceries and make himself the squirrel meat sub sandwich he had been dreaming of all morning.
As he tiptoed back into his living room and sat on his couch with his sandwich in hand, his fiancé began to stir.
“Hey babe,” she whispered through a yawn. She smiled warmly at him. “How was your trip to the grocery store?”
Bigfoot thought of the old song he had heard and his friend he had run into, of the subconscious mind and its influence, of impatience and politeness, and finally of his life and life in general, but in that moment, as he watched his fiancé sleepily gazing at him, her eyes full of love, he realized that it had indeed been a good trip to the grocery store.
“It was fine,” he said. “Just fine.” He took a big bite of his squirrel meat sub sandwich as the door to the guest bedroom creaked open, and his future father-in-law, the lake monster, stomped out into the living room. If it had been a hair smaller on either side, he would not have fit.
“Need to turn the temperature down,” he said grumpily. “Your mother likes the cold, you know. Oh, hello Bigfoot,” the lake monster said, not waiting for a response as he backed into the guest bedroom once more.
Bigfoot’s fiancé mouthed the word “sorry”. Bigfoot shook his head genially, ensuring her that all was well, and that an unexpected visit from his in-laws and a trip to the grocery store were a small price to pay for unconditional love. Then he devoured the rest of his squirrel meat sub sandwich in one bite, because he is Bigfoot.
Centaur: A Subpar Vacation Experience
The sun shone high in the cloudless Hawaiian sky and reflected off of the ripples of clear blue tropical waves as a behemoth of a cruise ship ambled through the water. Almost all of the vacationers aboard the Cryptid Cruiseliner were having an excellent time, but one particular centaur named Mykonos just could not get the hang of the whole "cruise thing".
Mykonos' wife, Hilary, was getting ready for dinner, but Mykonos continued to lie on their wide bed in their windowless cabin aboard the ship. His eyes were closed and his forearm covered his eyes as the ship slowly rocked back and forth. The seasickness was not only taking a toll on his body, but seemed to be taking a toll on his wife's patience as well.
"Honey, you really need to get up and get ready for lunch," Hilary said in a calm but stern tone. It was their third day aboard the Cryptid Cruiseliner, and they only had two left. Myokonos had yet to sit through an entire meal without getting seasick.