Of Inuit and Epidurals

I think Tuesday night must be some unofficial single’s night in the supermarkets of Vancouver.

Strolling home from work yesterday after a (disturbingly non-boring) class on clinical trial design, I stopped in at Meinhardts. Meinhardts is an appallingly expensive grocery store which nonetheless, I occasionally frequent, due to vagarious stocking of Tim Tams. I went in yesterday and, while passing the prepared meals section, the meatballs caught my eye. Casually listening in while I waited my turn, I decided the man ahead of me must have been a Quebeqois because he was conversing with the shop assistant in both French and English. He finished his purchasing, and moved to the side to pack his goods,while I took my turn at the counter.
“Can I have two meatballs please?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Can I have two meatballs please? “(this time pointing at the container behind the glass)
“Oh ( I could almost see the lightbulb switch on) You said Meatballs. Sure, perfect.” [read on]