The store had been closed for months, and it was sad to drive past and see the abandoned building.
Slowly, the paint began to fade, the lights no longer came on at night, and the once lush landscaping was left to wither and die. Such was the fate of my beloved neighborhood grocery store. Having a grocery store less than a block away from home was a luxury I didn’t completely appreciate until it was gone.
Then, one day, a construction sign was planted on the corner and dozens of trucks began roaring up and down the street. It was exciting! Something new was coming.
I used to love new things … new shoes, new earrings, a good new book. But lately, I’ve become leery of NEW. Is it just me, or does it feel like new things are just another way to feel old and disconnected? I’ve started hesitating … and questioning, “Are these shoes in fashion? Do I really need an iPhone 15?”
Opening day finally arrived, but the parking spaces were impossibly small. It took two three-point turns to get my old truck between the middle of the lines. As I entered through the wide double doors, pushing a brand-new grocery cart, something in the back corner caught my eye.
In a large green neon script—Ramen Bar. I must be seeing it wrong—it couldn’t possibly be a bar dedicated to those 10 cent noodles we all ate in college. The noodles that came in a case of twenty cellophane-wrapped dehydrated bundles, each with a packet of salty imitation beef or chicken flavoring.
As I maneuvered my buggy through the cases of fruits and vegetables, I was thankful for the beverage holder and complimentary freshly squeezed juice I received as one of the first 100 customers when I got stuck in the roundabout that was surrounding the organic strawberries. Note to whoever is responsible for designing new shopping stores … the roundabout is just plain confusing. It doesn’t reduce traffic inside a store any more than it does at the intersection of First and Main.
When I finally made my way to the queue at the back of the store, it seemed that everyone was drawn to the same spot. It was a noodle bar! There may not have been any cellophane wrappers, nor was there a dented pan and hot plate, but my suspicion was confirmed. The noodles were nothing new, just repackaged and displayed alongside steaming fresh vegetables. I quickly ordered the daily special of noodles with chicken, broccoli, and mushrooms, which was handed over in a takeout box like the ones you get with Chinese food.
After checking myself out—another new thing that really isn’t an improvement at all—I just smiled at the young couple that were gushing over their individual takeout boxes and their new discovery. I’ll keep it to myself that the noodles are nothing new. I felt energized by my realization that I didn’t need to feel hesitant or concerned that I was old and disconnected.
Ramen noodles won’t be the only proof that what was old is new.