The Giant Food on Ridgely Road in Lutherville has jugs of Apple Juice for .99 cents. They’re on an endcap by the deli section.

(If you like apple juice, that is).

I used to work with a guy named Masood when I (assistant) managed a pizza shop down in the city. Masood was a middle-aged Pakistani who had immigrated to the U.S. many, many years beforehand. He’d been a cop in Pakistan. His brother was G.M. of the Catonsville store, and they roomed together. Masood drove (probably still does) this beat up old Toyota Camry with like 500,000 miles on it. He’d had it for five years, paid $500 for it, and had never ever had any work done on it. It was filled with trash and couldn’t go faster than thirty-five miles an hour, so he always drove the backroads through the city from our store to his brother’s house near Catonsville.

He became a citizen a little over a year ago. He spent an entire day quizzing every native-born citizen in the store about politics. I think it amused him that folks who’d never had to work for their citzenship barely knew anything about how their government worked — this one kid, Gangsta’ Mike, thought the Civil War had been fought in the 1950’s and was convinced that Adolf Hitler had been a U.S. Senator. Masood was laughing about that the whole night, it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He even stumped me — he was able to recite every Maryland Representative to the U.S. House (I got “Uh … Cardin and Ruppersberger” and hit a blank) as well as name Maryland’s governor’s going back to the 19th century.

After I’d been working at this store for several months, a Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robbins combo finally opened in the empty space next door which had previously held an Einstein Bagels but had been empty for a few years. Anyway, it was (still is, I presume) a twenty-four hour operation, and the night guy was also Pakistani. He and Masood became friendly (they might’ve known each other prior, I don’t know) and it would get to the point where whenever Masood closed, he would then go next door and spend a few hours chattin’ with his buddy, both behind the counter … his buddy in his Dunkin’ Donuts/Baskin Robbins uniform, Masood in his corporate “big three” pizza joint shirt.

When I finished my closing chores — finishing the dishes, paperwork, making a deposit, etcetra — I would sometimes wander next door and be treated to an ice cream. I didn’t really feel guilty about it — after all, I often made food for Masood’s friend and the staff of that shop. Sort of “I scratch your back, you scratch mine” kind of deal. Anyway, I’d usually get a mint chocolate chip ice cream. They always sort of giggled when I ordered it, and I thought it strange, because these two weathered middle-aged Pakistani men were giggling like teenage girls.

One night, I confronted them. “What are you giggling about?”

“You have no kids, man.” Masood’s friend said, handing me the ice cream cone.

“What are you talking about?” I replied.

“Mint Chocolate Chip! Ruins sperm count!” Masood said.

“No it doesn’t!” I replied, defensively.

“The mint, the mint!” Masood’s friend said. “Think of your girlfriend!”

Well, not having a girlfriend at the time, I told them, it didn’t really bother me, regardless of the impact to my future reproductive health. They both laughed a bit more at that.

In any case, I have a carton of Breyer’s Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream in my fridge, and as I still don’t have a girlfriend, I’m going to go have a bowl as a reward to myself for the long and frustrating day I endured.