There is much entertainment to be had at the single store in town. When I'm feeling cabin-feverish, I go down there and cruise the aisles. I've found I can frequently satisfy my periodic junk food cravings just looking at the packages and imagining eating it. If that fails, reading the ingredients list usually cures me. Perusing the shelves, I ask myself who would buy that, and why? I used to wonder who buys Lunchables, but now I know: my young adult students bring them to class for breakfast (shudder). I can spend 10 minutes considering the merits of the available soup flavours, none of which I actually buy. When groceries lose their fascination, I drift to the clothing aisle, where sparkly purple T-shirts compete with logo-smothered hoodies for my attention. Women's sizes jump from 2 to XL with nothing in the mid-range, so there is no danger of me appearing in class wearing a scoop-neck skinny-T with strategically placed mesh insert. I save the back of the store for last. There, behind the mark-down racks (where clothes I would actually consider wearing seem to end up), are glass cases. Peering into them, I am reminded of where I really am. Hanging behind the glass are beautiful tanned fox skins in a range of colours, elegant filleting knives, and skinning knives with a modified ulu shape, looking like what they are: a tough and efficient butchering tool.
This place is more than a remote little town with limited consumer options. It's a community with a different culture and value system from the south. I'm comfortable with that.
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