What Lettuce Knows About War.
What Your Lunch Reveals About Global Power
“If we need to negotiate with bombs, we’ll negotiate with bombs.” Three days after the report, I was reading the words of Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth in the New York Times. Before a customer service rep snarled at me, with his nose in the air, he asked, “You know you have to pay for that, right?” My mind sputtered with millions of responses and insults. I thought about making a snarky remark about his blonde bowl cut and the dirt under his fingernails. Something like “Did you wipe Greg Abbott’s ass before clocking in today?” Instead, I stayed silent, thinking it was only funny in my head. I remembered what my granny used to say: “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it.” Without a word, I placed the newspaper back on the newsstand with care. I have two cigarettes left. Shaking off the encounter felt better than causing trouble. I turned away to find my fiancée elsewhere in the grocery store. With squinted eyes, Lauren was fighting her bangs and trying to choose between potato chips and pretzels.
The whole point of our coming to the grocery store was to get sandwich supplies for a week’s lunch. We decided to cut back for our move from Austin to New Orleans in November. I approached Lauren, who looked focused. I was still reeling from the newspaper headlines and the clerk’s attitude. “Iran’s Foreign Ministry claimed that the failed cease-fire and the attacks were meaningless. Did you see that?” I asked. “They are much more likely to respond by escalating than by giving in.” Frustrated, I muttered to myself. Lauren kept staring at the Lay’s and Rold Gold Pretzels. I decided to double down. “What about all the lives affected by nonsense, by greed, by unneeded loyalty?”
Breaking her focus, Lauren looked towards me. “What about them?” she asked. “What kind of lettuce do you like on your sandwich?” Dumbfounded, I started looking around Aisle 9 as if I were in a daze. She turned back to the bags marked “original flavor” and “sticks.” I ignored her question about lettuce and pressed on. I exclaimed, “Fox News claimed that America could make a fortune if it sacrificed troops to take over Iran.” But a soldier said it himself, claiming he didn’t know if America had the stomach. He thinks we would all like to see troops come home.” Finally making a decision, Lauren said, “I think chips, actually. Can I have both?” She dunked them both into the shopping cart. Ignoring her focus on the snacks, I continued. “Lauren, they warned that rushing into this invasion could be a disaster for us.”
She ignored me and turned to the produce display. Brushing through the different heads of lettuce, she said, “I think I like iceberg lettuce.” Mimicking the sounds of a striking match, I smacked my lips and yelled: “Fuck the oil and fuck iceberg lettuce.” Everyone turned to the wall of lettuce, trying to catch a fragment of our conversation. Fed up, I bought into the lettuce talk. “I only like romaine lettuce; iceberg is shit. When I make a sandwich, I put three pieces of romaine lettuce, mayo, hummus, and two slices of provolone cheese.” Shocked by my attitude, Lauren was quiet for the rest of our shopping.
Once it was time to check out, the total was $121 for chips, bread, turkey, and condiments. As we left, my thoughts shifted from the receipt to the looming threat of war. It struck me that whenever they or we launch a missile, I always find myself at the grocery store. When Trump made a social media post a few days before June 12th, news reports were breaking. He said, “The United States would hit Iran very hard tonight.” I was in a grocery store then, too, distracted by a bet as I checked the score of the Knicks-Spurs game. Where and what will I be doing when the world ends?