Blue Scrubs, Blue Vests, Blue Fields

After successfully zooming past any wayward zombies that may have hanging out in the overgrown cemetery that guarded the entry of my great-grandmother’s street, I breathlessly bounded up the jolly, inexplicably blue AstroTurf that lined the steps and porch of my great-grandmother’s duplex and swung the heavy door open happy to be in the confines of my safe haven.

However, on this day, as soon as I caught my breath from evading the living dead, a smell so ratchet and vile filled my nose that it caused me to dry heave in the entryway. I was certain that an animal had gotten into the basement and died.

I would soon learn that it was much worse than a decaying squirrel or rabbit.

I covered my nose and stumbled down the long, skinny hallway until I reached the kitchen. There, to my abject horror, I found the culprit. And, the sight of pig’s feet slow roasting in a Crock Pot will haunt my dreams until my dying day.

I made my way to my great-grandmother’s bedroom and asked her to please explain the horrifying science experiment happening in the kitchen. To my surprise, her eyes were dancing and she clapped her hands together and said, “Oh my! Isn’t it wonderful? I can’t wait to eat these. Will you join me?”

“I love you very much, but there is no way I’m eating pig feet. Where did you even get those?”

She told me that one of her friends had picked them up for her at Grant’s Supermarket. She added, “The one on the avenue…it’s the only place that has the sense to sell them. And, that’s why I’ll always like them better than Kroger’s.”

My great-grandmother loved locally-owned Grant’s Supermarket because they were the only place that carried food a that she considered a delicacy. It may not have been as fancy or as big as Kroger’s, but they understood their community. I will always believe that pig feet are what I will be served for every meal if I go to hell, but for my great-grandmother they were comfort food of the highest order and I am so glad that Grant’s could provide them for her.

My relationship with Bluefield, WV, my hometown, is as twisted as the ragged dirt hollows that stretch deep into the isolating mountains. Some of my secrets and a lot of my heartache still have residence there.

However, there are times when I am so proud to come from a place where people still bring casseroles when your mama dies; a place where the best hot dogs in the known world can be found; a place that celebrates when the summer sun raises the mountain temperatures above 90 degrees by giving out free lemonade. And, I will forever be grateful to be from a place where, if you’re every lucky enough, one morning you’ll look up and see the fog cascading down East River Mountain like rolling white waves and you’ll lose your breath.

Recently, it was the store that once identified that some in its community considered pig feet the apex of “good eatin’” that reminded me why, despite all of the mixed emotions, that ultimately I am proud of my hometown. My 89 year old grandmother still lives in Bluefield and when I asked her if she needed me to send her anything, she said that a “mask” would be nice.

“Gran, you don’t need a mask. You need to stay home.”

“Well, Sosha, I’m going to have to run to Grant’s and get some groceries at some point.”

My stress level immediately redlined. I texted a couple of friends and asked if they knew how I could get some groceries delivered. I knew the local grocery stores were doing all that they could to keep up with the influx of demand, but they just weren’t set up to handle the delivery options that larger cities have.

However, after some calls were made, my friend sent me a number for the Grant’s manager and said that she had been told of the situation and would make sure that my grandmother had groceries. And, that she did. She told me to send her a list and that they would get everything together and call me back with a total. She then had an employee drop them off to my grandmother.

I was overcome with emotion and gratitude. I had felt so helpless from 200 miles away and a complete stranger went above and beyond the call of duty.

The manager acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. It’s a huge deal. Grocery store employees and others in retail are being exposed to a deadly disease and working around the clock for way too little money.

And, while I have the utmost respect and gratitude for doctors, nurses and others who are on the front lines of treating this disease, I hope that we can also remember to thank those who are putting their lives on the line to make sure that while we are staying at home, we have milk and bread and bacon and eggs and Lucky Charms and Doritos and maybe even pig feet.

I hope that we can remember to be as kind to the ones who wear blue vests as we are the ones who wear blue scrubs.

This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.

Soshally Awkward

Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.