Being a permanent pedestrian really stinks when it rains nonstop for days. I end up trapped in my apartment or sucking it up and walking in the wet. The latter results in a number of ailments, not the least of which is a powerful need for wonton soup.

So last night, after a dark and rainy day, my friend and I decided to join forces on a feast of homemade wonton soup and eggrolls. Naturally we went to our favorite Asian market, which happens to be on the corner opposite our neighborhood Publix.

I officially decided I will never shop at Publix again. I finally realized the Asians have most of what I need, and whatever they can't offer I'll just get from the Puerto Ricans. Too many people were simply raised on Publix, (or its regional equivalents). Our parents just let Publix Supermarkets happen without a thought, and it was stupid.

Granted, Publix is a pretty good company as far as companies go. They did give me my first job back in high school, but I'm tired of paying for high ceilings, bright lights, chipper employee-owners, excessive cleanliness and organization that borders on art just because it's the American way. I don't need shopping to be a pleasure, I need it to be effective. Don't foist a superexperience on me, charge more for it, then use the money to invest in Crispers.

Honestly the meat, fish, and produce at the Asian markets win on any rational rubric. (And I've always been fond of the delicious ready-to-eat and baked goods. $.90 for a pork bun the size of my face? Yes please! $1 for a custard sponge cake the size of my right hemisphere? I'll take two!)

When it comes to interacting with the nice Vietnamese lady behind the counter, I am always filled with fear and self-loathing. I'm used to ordering food in the language it's meant to be ordered in. Stupid American that I am, I only know Latin languages, with a splash of WWII and Rammstein German.

Technically I know more Vietnamese phrases than I use, but because every word can be intoned six different ways to mean six different things I don't trust myself. I always fear "giant pork bun, please," will come out "your mother is a wild hog," or that "mmmm… custard cake," will be heard as "hey there sugar-tits." So for now I stick to "Chào," (hi), "Càm ơn," (thank you), and friendly smiles.

That's all I can muster, but at least I try. And it ain't like they don't speak English.

I decided, and made the best pork and shrimp wonton soup and eggrolls I've ever had in my life. A grocery store is just a big room filled with food that will soon be shit; pretty it up all you want. Then pay for it yourself.