The Super Market Superman Man

So the other day I find myself on the way to the super market to purchase some Guinness, when I look down and realize, to my dismay, that although typically I prefer to avoid wearing clothing that has advertisements printed on it, I, due to unusual and muddled circumstances, am sporting a T-Shirt with a very unsubtle Guinness Logo. It’s not that big of a deal, but immediately my mind begins to race with worries that people will see me in the shirt carrying a 6-pack through the store and surmise that Guinness is my ‘thing’; that I am dedicated to it; that I am a Guinness Nerd.

There are people like that. They adopt some product or fictional character as a way to identify themselves; and I don’t want anyone to think that that is what I’ve done with Guinness; like I’m so obsessed with it that when I buy some I’ve got to change into the T-shirt, so everyone knows I’m Curaaazzy about Guinness. I know that I’ll feel embarrassed going through the store like that, but I also think it’s worse to go back home for a different garment to avoid something so silly, so I pull in to the parking lot and walk up to the storefront.

On my way in, I notice an enormous pick up truck featuring a proportionally huge custom decal reading: “Superman Returns”. I consider it strange but simply go into the store and forget about it until I run into the gigantic guy in his mid 40’s who is obviously the owner of Super-Truck. I know this because of his shirt, not a Superman shirt, but a sleeveless one reveals four unusually large bicep tattoos of Superman; of the ‘S’ logo, the actual Superman cartoon character in mid flight, Clark Kent taking off his business suit revealing the tights and cape and one more that I can’t remember for sure but is probably the whole red and yellow word “Superman”; if that is a word.

It’s just weird; borderline creepy. He’s a grown man utterly fanatical about Superman. I wonder how long I’d have to converse with him before the subject of Superman would break through. “Not very.” I conclude because he’s obviously not embarrassed by his obsession. He clearly has no qualms about it. He is proud of his passion.

Then I realize there is no reason to continue wondering when I can find out for sure, so I get into the check out line behind him and ask “Excuse me Sir, how’s that Moose Tracks Ice Cream you have there? I’ve never had it but have wanted to try it.”

His reply, and I am not kidding, is: “My kids like it but I only eat Superman Ice Cream.”

Kryptonite! Superman Ice Cream!

Then, astonishingly, he turns to his wife and says, “Hey Lois, what’s that Moose Tracks got in it?”

Lois.

NO shit: