Omak (AP)—A man of Middle Eastern origin was observed walking into a rural Washington grocery store, according to several cashiers and a shelf stocker. The man, whose club card number identified him as one “Rani Hasan,” walked in, bought two cartons of soymilk, a package of organic strawberries, a can of black beans, then walked out and hasn’t been seen since. “He walked in, bought two cartons of soymilk, a package of organic strawberries, a can of black beans, and then BAM! He just walked out, and hasn’t been seen since,” said one cashier, who declined to be named for safety reasons. “Al Queida, for sure.”I apologize to the real Rani Hasan (Doctor Rani Hasan, I presume) wherever he may be, and I apologize doubly to the hardworking employees of Safeway, who, I’m sure, are thinking no such thing as the above. I can’t resist, however, playing out this fantasy in my head every time I make a purchase under Rani’s name. Let me explain.
Safeway, like many other national grocers, claims to reward customer loyalty by giving club card discounts to those of us willing to register our information with them. Now, as there’s no penalty for being part of multiple clubs, I’ve always had the suspicion that this club discount system is being used to some far more nefarious end. Maybe they are keeping track of how much soymilk I drink and have been steadily decreasing their supply accordingly to try and get me to drink, I don’t know, coconut milk. Maybe once my lifetime purchase of black beans reaches a thousand dollars then men in dark suits and sunglasses will show up on my doorstep. Who knows?
You want to know how many pounds of spaghetti squash I bought last month, Safeway? Well, two can play this game. This is where Rani Hasan comes in.
Because Safeway allows me to identify myself by phone number alone, I still use the phone number assigned to Reed Hall, Apartment 4, Room A, Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, Baltimore, Maryland. This was where I was living when I registered for Safeway’s glorious club, and I’ve seen no reason to update my information. The fun part, of course, is that the information attached to this phone number has been updated with the change of tenants. For about a year I purchased my strawberries under another boring Caucasian name, Ben Smith or the like. But since 2005—and I assume the reason it hasn’t changed again is that smartphones have replaced all landlines in the lives of incoming freshmen to the School of Medicine—I’ve been going to Safeway as the very suspicious, clearly foreign Rani Hasan.
In Seattle this was not such a big deal. Cashiers would barely look twice at me. “Thank you, Mr. Hassen,” they’d say, probably wondering why Ronnie was spelled so oddly.
But in the tiny fishbowl of Omak, Washington, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before some well-meaning soul reports me to the authorities. I can’t go into Safeway anonymously. On my last trip I ran into three patients, one of my MA’s, our local radiologist, and one of our dentists. People know my face. They know my name. It is not Rani Hasan.
Not that that stops me from wishing, more and more, that I could become Rani Hasan for these brief trips. Not just in name but in appearance. I have no idea what you look like, Rani, but my guess is you’re not gangly, blonde-haired or blue-eyed. Just once I’d like to purchase a six-pack of Negra Modelo without worrying who’s behind me in the checkout line.
I’d even be willing to trade. Wherever you are, Dr. Hasan, if you’d like to go to Safeway as Ned Hammar, just let me know. If you can’t find me, just get yourself a subscription to the Omak-Okanogan Chronicle. I’m sure that, in between the ads for free chicks and the results of the Stampede, I—as you—will be appearing there soon.
