Grocery shoppers are zombies, trudging up and down aisles, pawing at the shelves for items they’ve bought before—rote calorie acquisition. Maybe the NEW ITEMS shelf causes a brief spike in brain waves, something that snaps them out of the lull. Wasabi-dusted zucchini chips? Tell me more.

Or sometimes it’s me.

I was well into my New York life before I leveraged the potential of grocery stores for performance art: short, perishable interactions that expired quickly but planted seeds of remembrance that would root, yielding joy during later recalls.

My inspiration came from my mother, who delighted in making strangers laugh. Entering a supermarket with her initiated a countdown to her next intervention. It never took long.

She started this habit with basic joke-telling. Pushing her cart down an aisle, she’d strategically slow to a stop as another shopper drew near.

“Okay, are you ready for the joke of the day?” she’d ask, pointing her finger at the captive audience with a look of anticipatory glee.

The shopper would take a second to process before responding: ”Um, okay.” Some matched her enthusiasm: “Let’s hear what ya got!”

My mom cycled through simple riddle jokes during her grocery store comedy career, closing it out with, “Why did the football coach go to the bank?” She was well into her late 70s when she last put this to a shopper, her face frozen with contained excitement. After the person gave up my mom would release her joy.

“To get his quarter back!” she’d announce with amusement, her Brooklyn accent adding extra flavor. There’d be an exchange of smiles with the shopper sometimes encouraging my mom with: “Ha ha. Good one. Thanks for that. You’re funny. That made my day.” Her intrusions were met with gratitude, people appreciating being snapped from their semi-catatonic states.

At some point she expanded her repertoire to include a more sophisticated bait-and-switch routine.

Near the exit, she’d approach Customer Service and demand, “I’d like to see the manager”—a phrase that instantly puts people on edge. A manager would eventually approach and nervously ask: “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

My mom would pause, stone-faced, ratcheting the concern before delivering her verdict: ”You have an employee here by the name of [Employee Name] who just gave me OUTSTANDING service today and I just wanted to make sure you knew this before their next performance review.”

She’d flash a smile, relishing the visible relief. Like a good roller coaster, she put people through a challenging thrill before delivering them to relief.

So here I was on her home turf—not far from her favorite roller coaster, Coney Island’s Cyclone—feeling the urge to take up the family business.

Like my mom, I started simple but I introduced a physical component. Being tall, I would be asked to grab items from top shelves. Given the giant sea of New York shoppers it was happening more than you’d think. I’d jump into action and I’d be on my way, feeling like the Boy Scout I never was. Then, I decided to mix things up.

“Excuse me, sir. Could you possibly grab that can of beans from the top shelf?” an older woman in Brooklyn asked me.

“Of course!” I said. But after reaching up, I slowed my hand to within inches of the can, bending my elbow slightly and wiggling my fingers in mock defeat. “Darn, I can’t seem to reach it either!”

She was bewildered. Clearly he can reach it but why won’t he? Just what the heck is going on here? Grab the can!

I looked down at the woman, expressing disappointment for not being able to help. I held her gaze, allowing the confusion to marinate, before breaking into a warm smile: “Kidding!”

As I handed her the beans, she laughed and swiped at my arm: “Child, you had me goin’!”

Living in New York means living in lines. For me, trips to Trader Joe’s meant loading up a basket and then kick-sliding it on the concrete floor towards the registers along with twenty or thirty other shoppers. Inevitably, someone ahead of me would realize they forgot something. They’d spin around and with an apologetic look say: “I’m just gonna go grab something real quick.”

“Sure, sure. Not a problem!” I’d say, confirming the social contract. They’d soon return, thanking me for having moved there stuff along as the line advanced. But then I remembered my mom’s bait-and-switch routine and saw an opportunity—a need born from line-drudgery.

On my next trip to Trader Joe’s, the woman in front of me turned towards me, confessing: “I forgot something! Can you watch my stuff real quick?”

I nodded assurance: “Of course!”

But when she returned, I pretended I’d never seen her before in my life. Moreover, I insinuated she was cutting in line. “Um, excuse me!” I challenged, scowling a little.

Her mouth froze open in mild shock. Her eyes wild. Wait, we had an agreement! It’s me! I was only gone a second. What’s happening!?

I waited half a second before replacing my scowl with a smile: “Totally kidding. I get bored in these long lines. It’s my new favorite joke. Sorry.”

She exhaled and smiled with relief: “Oh my god, you totally got me. I was like…wait, what?” We chatted a bit more before she turned back around as we continued our slow procession.

The best reaction I ever got after my grocery line routine was from a drama teacher who insisted I was more convincing than most of his students. We even exchanged emails. More importantly, we had shared a NEW ITEM I’d snuck into the store—perishable with a unique taste not soon forgotten.