Stories from Kroger #3: Big Head

I've witnessed many crazy moments at Ghetto Kroger. But one of the craziest had to do with a movie starring Cher.

So there I was a month and a half into my bagging duties at Ghetto Kroger. Getting my groove down. Macking with the ladies. Making some money. I even made some pretty good friends at the store.

When bagging groceries, I would sometimes imagine I was in the Super Bowl of Bagging. I would time myself to see how fast and accurate I could bag groceries. I even pitted my time against other baggers.

Hey, it passed the time.

One Saturday morning, I was bagging like a mad hatter and soaking up the views in the process. Many cute little sorority ladies would walk through my line donned in scantily clad Scarlet and Gray apparel purchasing alcohol, pretzels, hot dogs and whatever else you buy for an Ohio State football game.

My early morning shift was going a-ok. The sights were especially good. And, with my shift ending right before kick-off, it was turning out to be a great day.

I said was.

That's when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Walking into Ghetto Kroger was this black dude who had what appeared to be a giant foam head on his shoulders....much like the heads you see in the Mardi Gras parade.

I started to laugh out loud. Giggling, I poked the cashier in front of me on the shoulder and pointed to the guy with the funny Mardi Gras head.

"Check it out," I snirked.

That's when I saw the eyes on the Mardi Gras head blink.

That's when my smile turned into a frown.

That's when the blood drained from my head.

That's when I realized It wasn't a Mardi Gras head, but the dude's actual head!

My jaw had officially dropped.

"Psssst," A cashier stepped up behind me and whispered in my ear. "Stop staring at him."
"But...what?....huh?" I mumbled in total shock. I couldn't stop looking at the enormous head.

Big Head and his posse of five or six guys walked over to the produce section and eventually out of my line of sight.

I pushed my jaw closed and turned around towards the cashier.

"You ever see the movie Mask with Cher?" she asked me.

I nodded.

"Well, that guy has the same disease as the guy from Mask, Rocky Dennis."

"Ohhhhhh," I said. Not really comprehending anything she was saying.

"When he comes through the line, don't look at him too long," she said. "Those guys he hangs out with don't like it when you look at him for too long."
"Okay," I thought to myself. "Don't stare at the guy with the enormous Big Head."

About 20 minutes passed and I was bagging groceries completely unaware of my surroundings. Almost like a fish swirling around in a bowl.

That was until I looked up and saw Big Head waiting in line in my bagging aisle. His mouth opened and a big Jabba the Hutt tongue came out and he licked his lips.

"Don't stare at the guy with the enormous Big Head." "Don't stare at the guy with the enormous Big Head." "Don't stare at the guy with the enormous Big Head." "Don't stare at the guy with the enormous Big Head."

But, I was transfixed. I couldn't stop looking at Big Head.

You know that feeling you got when you watched that documentary about the 16-year old girl with two heads? Well, multiply that by 30. And that's how what I felt right at that exact moment.

My heart was beating. My hands were getting pasty. I felt extremly light-headed. I was going to pass out.

I had to get away from Big Head immediately!

I found myself walking away from my bagging station. I had no control over my body. My legs walked me all the way to the back of the Kroger store right into the restroom. My hands tossed some water on my face. My lungs took a couple of deep breaths.

For a brief second, I wanted to quit, leave the store and drink about a case of beer with my friends. Then go hide in a corner.

Just to be sure he was gone, I walked the entire length of the backroom and took an extremely long drink from the water fountain on the other side of the store.

With my composure maintained, I walked back to my bagging station and, to my relief, Big Head was gone.

"Whew!" I sighed.

"Eimer," the store manager yelled. "We're empty on carts. Go bring some in from outside?"

I nodded and hightailed it outside. But, as the automatic doors flew open, I stopped dead in my tracks. I saw Big Head and his posse in the parking lot slowly walking away from Ghetto Kroger.

A white frat boy on a bike pedaled past Big Head and did what seemed to be a quintuple take. Like a five-year old boy attempting to take his first ride, the frat boy meandered on his bike and struggled to maintain his balance. All the while staring at the giant blinking globe.

Two guys from Big Head's posse started beating their chests and yelling insults at the frat guy. But Big Head didn't turn around.

"What's the matter?" yelled one of the guys. "Ain't you never seen anyone with a big head before?"

I'm going to go out on a limb answer that question for the frat boy.

"No."
EPILOGUE:
People might be wondering if Big Head was a regular mainstay at the Ghetto Kroger.

Sadly, no.

Although my good friend once served him up some fish filets at the Seafood Department on a different day, I only had the surreal opportunity to witness the craziness that was Big Head once. And, to be honest, that was enough.

During my Ghetto Kroger tour of duty, rumors would always swirl around about Big Head. Some said he was living on borrowed time due to his disease. Others say he donated his head to the Ohio State University after he died in exchange for $20,000 a month while he was alive. I also heard that Big Head and his posse would walk around the campus area beating up and robbing shocked observers who would stare at his giant dome. During one particular lunch break, I struck up a conversation with a cashier who lived in the area about Big Head.

"Oh he a playa," she told me. "He's got, like, 20 kids from 10 different women. My cousin is one of them."

Big Head? A playa?

Of all of the rumors I've heard about Big Head, I found that one the hardest to believe.

Other Stories from Ghetto Kroger:
Story #1: Intro
Story #2: Magic

Stories from Kroger #1 - Intro

It was the summer of 1991. I had just moved into a five-bedroom (six, if you count the basement) house on the outskirts of Ohio State University.

In less than a month, we were all planning on starting our sophomore year at the school.

In need of money, I scoured the campus area in search of a job. I filled out applications everywhere. Gyro shops. Pizza places. Stores. Malls. I even filled out an application at a chinese restaurant.

I must have filled out more than 100 applications in a three-day period. No lie.

The days continued to roll by. And the phone continued to not ring. I was running out of options. And money. I needed to find some sort of employment. Somewhere. Anywhere.

While attending a party, I overheard this pretty brunette talking to a group of girls about her job. As it turned out, she was a cashier at Kroger on East 7th Avenue and High Streets. In fact, three of the four girls at the party were cashiers at that particular Kroger.

And, I should mention that they were all pretty freaking hot.

"Are they hiring?" I asked half-jokingly. To be honest, I had driven by this particular Kroger numerous times. And to be honest, it wasn't on my top 100 places to work in Columbus if you know what I'm saying.

"As a matter of fact they are," she beamed. "You should totally go down there tomorrow and fill out an application. They'll hire you in a second."

Not sure if she was hitting on me or not. But I was flattered to say the least. As the night wore on and the more buzzed up I had become, I thought to myself. "Hey, if these hot ladies aren't afraid to work there, than why should I be afraid?"

In the distance, however, I heard a quiet whisper breeze through the wind. "Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid," it said.

The next morning, I checked the answering machine one last time. No messages. I conceded defeat. Reluctantly, I hopped into my Chevy Spectrum and drove down to the East 7th and High Kroger and begrudgingly filled out an application.

"Thanks," one of the manager's said scanning over my application. "If we need you, we'll give you a call."

Not even before I could get in the door and crack open my 40-ounce of Mickey's Malt Liqour, I recieved a message on my answering machine from Kroger. Less than one hour after I filled out the application.

They wanted me to come in for an interview.

"This is how desperate they are for workers?" I thought. "What am I getting myself into?"

I went in for an interview and before you could say "Paper or Plastic" I was hired as a bagboy/cart getter.

In a recent entry, I compared the difference between Walmart and Target. Well, let me just say that the people who frequented this particular establishment were not even close to those shoppers. They were some crazy wack jobs. In addition to an out-patient mental facility right next door, the Kroger on East 7th and High Street attracted some rather odd nuts.

To add to that, it wasn't exactly located in the most poshest of Columbus locales. In fact, it could be argued that, at the time, this particular location between campus and the Short North was one of the heaviest crime-ridden places in Columbus save Main Street and the West Side. I mean, it's never a good sign when, on more than one occasion, a dead body is found behind the store you're working for.

And to set the record straight, the nutjobs came in all sizes, shapes and colors. White, black, fat, skinny, asian, mexican, european and possibly a couple extra-terrestrials extras from the film Men in Black thrown in.

On my first day of work, I was bagging groceries when a guy with with a white kitchen apron splattered with blood came down my line.

"So, how do you like it here?" he asked with a sarcastic smile on his face. I quickly noticed the guy's Kroger nametag. Bruce. He was one of the company's prized meatcutters.

"It's okay," I shrugged as I looked around. "Seems pretty interesting."

He let out a quick laugh.

"Ohh, it's interesting all right."

All of a sudden, we heard sounds of a struggle in the frozen food aisle.

This white dude with wife-beater shirt and an extra pair of baggy gray sweatpants hurdled out of the aisle and hightailed it towards the exit doors. All the while holding onto his sweatpants to keep them from falling down.

"Hey! Stop, right there!" a police officer came from the aisle and was closing in on the man.

The sweatpants guy was almost out of the store before a store manager lunged in the air and football tackled him.

Freshly wrapped Steaks, filets and lobsters exploded in the air around him.

The cop hopped onto the guy, rammed a hard knee into the guy's back, latched on a pair of handcuffs and dragged him to the back room. Straightening his tie and fixing his mussed-up hair, the store manager followed behind with an angry grimace on his face.

And, just like that, everyone went back to work without missing a beat.

The only look of shock on anyone's face was my own.

The meatcutter noticed the look on my face and started to laugh.

"Welcome to Ghetto Kroger," he said as patted me on the back. "Never a dull moment here."

He was right.

The next year-and-a-half was filled with some craziest experiences I've ever had at any job in my entire life. Ever.

Some of those hard-to-believe stories I'll share with you from time-to-time on Eimer Debris.

Hopefully my good friend and partner in crime at the store can back me up on some of these stories.

Believe It or Not!