The Bodega Monologues


My bodega is filled with whipped cream.

Do not rely on my bodega for your recommended daily intake of vitamins.

My bodega is warm. My bodega is inviting. My bodega has a $10 minimum for credit cards.

My bodega was run for years by a pleasant family, yet still does not seem entirely wholesome.

Sometimes there are way too many 20-somethings in my bodega.

My bodega has literally never cried on a Sunday.

My bodega remained open the morning after the hurricane.

My bodega smells just like overpriced toilet paper that smells like bacon.

My bodega will let you keep a tab because it is still old fashioned in many ways.

One time, two drunk gay guys accidentally wandered into my bodega. They were looking for something very different and I gave them directions.

My bodega will surprise you.

My bodega does not have a cat. Not all bodegas have cats. It’s better not to make assumptions about people’s bodegas.

My bodega is EXTREMELY vegan friendly.

The aisles of my bodega are well-sized, everyone says so. Well, I guess, not everyone, just the people who have been inside my bodega and then discussed it with me.

I feel very protective of my bodega, especially because it doesn’t even technically have a door—just some flaps of material covering the entrance.

My bodega doesn’t allow skateboards.  Also, it’s really rude to make cell phone calls when you’re in there.

However, it’s fine if you want to eat in my bodega. Just don’t bring in anything from the outside. Like, whatever, I guess you can if you really want, but it just seems like that’d be overcomplicating things.

A group of very skilled people maintain my bodega and none of them accept my medical insurance.

My bodega is overflowing with life and joy and absolutely no semen.