How They Met #1: Grocery Store

Author's Note: Any fan of Twenty One Pilots knows that when asked in interviews about how they met, Josh and Tyler make up these ridiculous stories that are total lies. lol I thought it would be fun to write a "real" account of one of those fake stories. I watched an interview the other day in which Tyler said they met in a grocery store, and Josh was a bag boy. Here's how I think that meeting went down.

Grocery list in hand, I stared, clueless, at the signs hanging over the aisles. Given the choice of who to send shopping for food, I would be the last person any sane mother would pick. What was she thinking? She had to know I was going to throw a bunch of other random stuff in that buggy—stuff that wasn't even on the list. I mean, she had a semi-broke musician for a son, for Heaven's sake. She should have anticipated this. I decided I was not going to feel guilty about the damage I was about to do to her checking account. Not my fault that she sent me, even though there was no one else at home at the time to ask.

I wheeled down a random aisle, pondering the size of my Unauthorized Spontaneous Junk Food Budget, when a label caught my eye. Dang! They have Taco Bell in here? How did I not know this? There was Taco Bell salsa, Taco Bell taco shells (hard and soft!), Taco Bell taco sauce, and even Taco Bell dinner kits that contained everything you needed to make a complete meal! Three of those kits were in my hands and on their way to my buggy when a soft voice interrupted my tacobellgasm.

"Don't do it," the voice said.

A few feet down the aisle, a guy in a store smock stopped his stocking and nonchalantly made his way to my side, pretending to straighten the shelves as he talked out of the side of his mouth.

"It's a trick," he murmured.

I took a quick inventory. He was about my height, "skinny as a bean pole", (as my grandfather would jokingly put it, but who was I to talk?), with short, messy dark hair, and gauges in his ears.

"Just because there's a Taco Bell logo on that stuff doesn't mean it's good. Don't buy it." He lowered his voice even more. "But don't tell anyone I told you that."

The way he was acting, it was like the Grocery Store S.W.A.T team was going to storm the aisle any moment and haul us both away.

"I won't," I said, holding in a laugh as I very cautiously placed the boxes neatly back on the shelf. "So, you like Taco Bell?"

A small half grin. "Who doesn't?"

I glanced down at his name tag: Josh. I decided I liked Josh. "What's your favorite?"

"Well, that depends on how close I am to a bathroom," he answered, grinning a little more.

I snickered. I really liked this guy. Diarrhea aside, Taco Bell deserved its own level on the Food Pyramid, as far as I was concerned.

"You need help finding anything?" he asked.

I glanced down at my grocery list. "Do you know what ricotta is?"

He nodded, serious now. "It's a type of cheese, but it comes in a plastic container. You can get it in an 8 oz. size or 15 oz. But, buy the off-brand. You can't tell the difference."

Wow. This guy really knew his stuff.

Suddenly a loud voice blared out over the whole store: "Josh, you're needed up front."

He gave me a regretful look. "Sorry. Got to go the front and bag. The ricotta is in the dairy aisle near the milk. You know where that is?"

I nodded. Duh. Of course I knew where the milk was…because cereal. Milk drowns cereal. I currently held the number one spot on the Cereal Killer's Most Wanted List.

Josh strode purposely up the aisle and disappeared. I targeted my buggy straight for the dairy aisle, and of course, the ricotta was not with the milk. I knew it wouldn't be that easy. I sighed and spent the next five minutes scanning the shelves. While I was searching, I scored a gallon of chocolate milk, a can of Whipped Cream, and two boxes of Danimals Strawberry Smoothie yogurt. A voice interrupted my internal debate over whether to slide a quart of TruMoo strawberry milk into my cart, too. Josh was back.

"Just checking up on you. Did you find the ricotta?"

I shook my head. He smiled, walked a few steps away and pointed. If that ricotta had been a snake, I would be writhing on the floor right now, dying a slow, horrible death. Red faced, I chose a couple of the larger containers and dropped them in my buggy.

"What else you got on that list?" he asked.

I did a quick scan. "Sausage."

"What kind?"

I shrugged. "No clue. It just says sausage."

"Around the corner," he said.

We stood in front of the breakfast foods and stared. I knew all about bacon, but I was way in over my head now. "Have there always been this many different types of sausage?"

He smiled politely. "Yeah. There's the original, of course. Then mild. Extra Mild. Hot, but to be honest, it's not really all that hot. Italian. And if you're looking for something non-traditional, then we have chicken and turkey sausage, too."

I shuddered at the thought of what mom would do to me if I carted home bird sausage instead of pig sausage. "You really know a lot about sausage, Josh."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm sort of a sausage connoisseur."

I raised my eyebrows. TMI, dude. "I'm a taco man myself."

It only took him a couple of seconds to hop onto my dirty innuendo train. He blushed, chuckled and then got this cute little Oh-I-get-it! expression on his face.

"Yeah, I'm a taco guy, too, but if you put sausage in them that makes them better."

He grinned. I snorted a laugh. I was calmly discussing sexual preferences in the breakfast food aisle with a dude I'd only known for less than a half hour. Fun stuff.

"What's it for? Maybe that'll help us decide."

Relatives from out of state were coming for a visit at the end of the week. I'd heard mom mention something about them liking lasagna.

"Lasagna, I think."

He nodded authoritatively and pointed. "You need Italian sausage for that."

I thanked him, grabbed a couple packages, and tossed them into the cart.

"Josh, you're needed up front," the voice blared over the store intercom again.

He gave me a sweet, apologetic look, like he felt guilty at having to abandon the dumbest grocery shopper he'd ever met. "Sorry. We're really busy and short-handed today. If you need any more help, just look me up. I'll be around here somewhere stocking."

I thanked him and trucked my way over to the chip and soda aisle. Anyone who needed help in this aisle was too stupid to live. I totally blew my Unauthorized Spontaneous Junk Food Budget by the time I got to the other end of it. Mom was going to kill me. I should probably write her a song this weekend.

Josh was gone for a long time, long enough for me to gather up the stuff on my list that I actually knew how to find. I was down to one last item and I had no idea where to look, so I wandered around until I found him again. He was stocking in the canned food aisle.

He smiled when he saw me. "Hey. Need help again?"

I tried not to sound too pitiful. "Corn syrup."

His answer was on a five second time delay this time. Apparently corn syrup was complicated.

"That's in two aisles, but it's easier to find in the cereal aisle. They put some right above the corn flakes because it's an ingredient in peanut butter chews. You know, just for convenience."

He led the way, and I followed with a huge grin on my face. The cereal aisle was my hometown. Anyone in the cereal aisle were my people. Cereal. Was. Life.

We walked about halfway down the aisle and right there was the corn syrup, exactly where he'd said it would be. I transferred a couple of bottles to my cart.

"Any cereal on that list?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Nope. But cereal would definitely qualify for an Unauthorized Spontaneous Junk Food purchase, so…"

He snickered and nodded in agreement. All guys our age had a problem with spontaneous junk food consumption. "Want to know something cool?" he asked, grinning.

"Sure. Hit me."

"This all looks random, but there's a marketing secret behind how they shelve cereals. I can predict what cereal a person is going to buy just by looking at them."

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. It's easy once you know the secret," he said. In the next few minutes Josh opened up a whole new world to me. I was astonished to discover that there was an actual marketing strategy in place to sell cereal to gullible consumers just like me.

"Top shelf is local brands that aren't very popular," he explained. "The second and third shelves are called the 'Bulls-Eye Zone'—the most popular brands with the highest price. The fourth shelf is for kids. It's at their eye-level and there's where you find all the good cereal. And no one cares about the bottom shelf."

I was in awe. "You really know your stuff."

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Cereal is life."

I lost my breath for a moment.

He continued. "Did you know cereal is the only product in this store that covers an entire aisle?" It was a rhetorical question, which was good, because I was still trying to find my voice. "If there was a degree program for cereal, I'd be graduating from college right now."

I almost laughed until I realized he hadn't meant it as a joke. He looked away. I sensed regret in his voice. I suddenly realized that I wanted to learn everything there was to know about this guy.

"So, what's your favorite cereal?" I asked, hoping to take his mind off of whatever it was that had brought him down.

"Reese's Puffs. Yours?"

"Waffle Crisp."

"Ooh, I love that stuff!" he said, smiling again. "And Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

I grinned. "I can knock out a box of that in two days. What about Cap'n Crunch?"

"I once ate a whole box of that in one sitting," he bragged, snickering. "I was bouncing off the walls." He fell silent for a few moments and then, "I think cereal should be on the Food Pyramid, don't you?"

I began to wonder if I should try to acquire a taste for sausage, because Josh was serious marriage material.

"Josh, you're needed at the front." I was beginning to hate that voice in the intercom.

He grimaced. "Sorry, gotta go."

I was ready to check out, so I followed him. Despite the fact that there was a woman in front of me with the entire store in her buggy, I chose the line where Josh was bagging. I watched him as he worked, and after a couple of minutes I realized the guy had an amazingly effective system for bagging groceries. I stared, fascinated by the efficiency and smoothness of his movements. He had a soothing rhythm going on that mesmerized me. He was an intelligent guy with some serious skills. Why was he working at a grocery story?

Soon it was my turn and Josh bagged my groceries with the same elegance and efficiency.

"Do you need help with this?" he asked, putting the last of my bags into the cart.

I wasn't ready to say goodbye. "Yeah, I could use some help loading them in the trunk. I sprained my wrist the other day."

He looked up in concern. "How?"

He steered the buggy toward the door while I frantically wracked my brain for a plausible wrist-spraining story. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Uh…playing the ukulele."

A smile was tickling at the corners of his mouth. "You need to be more careful around those things. They're dangerous."

Despite being caught in a lie, I laughed at his deadpan delivery. I seriously need to hang out with this guy.

I opened the trunk with my "sprained" wrist and watched as he carefully loaded the bags. In just moments, the buggy was empty. He shut the trunk and studied me. He looked like I felt, like he didn't want this chance encounter to end.

"So, can you sing?" I asked.

He looked surprised, and I didn't blame him. It was a random question, completely out of context. But I had to know.

"Not a lick."

Damn. "Have you ever written a song?"

He shook his head sadly. "I sucked at English in school."

Damn. "Can you play an instrument?"

His eyes brightened. "The recorder. I can play Hot Cross Buns."

God, if you're listening, I really need this man in my life. Please, help me out here.

"Oh, and I play the drums a little, too," he added, shrugging. "I'm not where I want to be yet, skill-wise, but I'm getting there."

I silently thanked God for answering my prayer. "You want to be in my band?"

He considered me for a moment and then he smiled. "Sure. That'd be cool."

I invited him to come over Saturday. I gave him directions to my house, and he knew exactly where my neighborhood was, even though he didn't live there.

"I don't even know your name," he pointed out.

"Tyler Joseph. Yours?"

"Josh Dun."

He offered his hand. I took it, thinking we were going to do a traditional handshake, but I quickly got lost in his confusing combinations of fist bumps and slaps. I was as inept at secret handshakes as I was at grocery shopping, apparently.

He laughed when I gave up and dropped my hand. "We'll work on that Saturday," he said with a wink.