The Scariest Place in Midtown

I thought the Citi Kroger down by the airport was the scariest Kroger in town after I witnessed an actual drive-by there several years ago. I was in college and had picked up Geoff at the airport at the end of winter break. Heading home, we realized that we wouldn't make it back to Athens by the time they would stop selling alcohol, so we stopped at the Citi Kroger for a 6-pack of PBR.

My first instinct that something was off was when I reached the beer aisle. Instead of cases of beer, the entire wall was nothing but 40s. I have never to this day seen such an assortment. Citi Kroger didn't even have a 6-pack of PBR; they only sold it by the 40 oz. We grabbed a couple of bottles and headed to the checkout. In the place of Good Housekeeping and even National Enquirer at the checkout was instead Jet, Vibe, Black Men, and Ebony.

The drive-by happened as we were pulling out of the parking space. And technically it was aimed at the Texaco across the street, but it was close enough for us. Since then, they gentrified the store and now I hear it's nice. I don't know about the Texaco.

Murder Kroger (or Convict Kroger, or Killer Kroger, or Crack Kroger--the list really goes on) is sandwiched between City Hall East and the Clermont Lounge, home of Blondie, the over-the-hill stripper noted for crushing beer cans with her breasts. As you can see, it's another nice place. And it's also the closest store to my apartment building. An episode of COPS was filmed in Murder Kroger's parking lot. It featured a transvestite shopping with a stolen credit card and an ID that wasn't even close.

I stopped going to Murder Kroger for my groceries after an attempt to buy two things: beef and milk. Every gallon of skim was "missing" and all the meat was marked "Manager's Special" because it was brown and beyond it's expiration date. As I walked out of the store empty-handed, I passed the armed police officer. You know, the one that works there full-time so you don't get murdered on the way to your car.

Boyfriend coaxed me into going back into the store, but I don't go there alone and I don't go at all after dark. Last week we saw a homeless man in the back of the police car and he was beating at the window so badly he bloodied himself and they had to call and ambulance. Yesterday we stopped there again and in line in front of us was a woman like me: a preppy 20-something. She looked around wild-eyed as she was talking on her phone. "I don't know where I am, but I am in the scariest place in Midtown!" she softly shrieked.

Boyfriend and I didn't even try to hide our laugh. Yes, yes she is.