Excerpt: (untitled short story collection)

"Try some coleslaw?"
"No thanks." I never tried the coleslaw. It was a sort of policy I'd developed. I couldn't help but check it out, though, as I passed by the little product table in the grocery store. After all, it was coleslaw - food of the gods and all. That's what my parents thought. Had thought, anyway, before they'd disappeared.
Okay, I'm rambling already - sorry. Let me try to get organized here. I was at the store for milk, just milk, and I was in a hurry. I wouldn't have had time to try some ice cream if they'd been pushing that. So there was no way I was stopping for coleslaw. I made for the dairy section, grabbed the carton, and chose a different route back to the front of the store. As I paid, I could hear the woman's voice somehow penetrating the general hubbub. "Try some coleslaw?" I pitied her, in a way. Of all the things to get stuck selling.
Yeah, I know. You love coleslaw, and you want to know how I got so messed up. Who could hate coleslaw, right? I don't hate it, actually, but that's what people usually conclude from listening to me. Can't say I blame them. I do go on about it. But there's a reason, you'll see. I said I'd tell you the story, and I will. It's not a simple thing, that's all. Oh, and there's also a reason I'm starting where I am in the story. It is the middle, in a way, but it actually makes more sense to tell it like this. Starting from the beginning would be more confusing because I didn't figure it out until later.
Okay, so I'm leaving the store, and I notice the woman in front of me had a whole cart full of coleslaw. That I could not let pass.
"Excuse me, you're not really buying all that, are you?" I tried to keep the desperation out of my tone.
"What?" She stopped and turned around, confused.
"All that coleslaw. That's a mistake, right? Nobody could use that much."
She stared at me, confusion unyielding.
Hmm. I changed tack. "Sorry, I've just never seen anyone with so much coleslaw." Not true, but whatever. "What's it for? You having a party?"
"Y-y-yes," she stammered. "A coleslaw party."
She had me there. I'm not easily taken aback, but I just gaped at her for a whole minute.
"What, seriously?" I finally managed.
She nodded. Now that I had lost mine, her composure was returning. "I read about it in Cosmo, and thought, I've gotta try that."
When I didn't respond, she smiled artificially. "Have a nice day."
As I watched her pushing her cart away down the parking lot, my mind was reeling. Now, this is probably a good time for some background, otherwise you won't understand why I was so affected by the encounter.
My parents raised me on coleslaw, I like to say. Not that it's all I ate, but it's easily the single thing I ate the most of. And no, I don't dislike it because of that. I didn't always look forward to it, but I never got tired of it. The taste was fine, the texture didn’t bother me, and when properly made (as my parents always did) it was just the right balance of tart and sweet. This is perhaps the single thing people seem most determined to misunderstand about me, so let me say it definitively: my bad relationship with coleslaw does not come from any childhood experience. It was, as they say, an adult-onset thing.