Much like my experiences with Laundromats and public rest rooms, grocery stores always leave me frustrated and completely naked. And yes, I’m using naked in the metaphorical, emotional sense ” except for when I tried washing all my clothes at a local Laundromat. I honestly didn’t know it would offend that lady and her kids.
But as I was saying, grocery stores have given me grief for as long as I’ve had to explore their labyrinths of chow. No matter how I prepare, each trip makes me wish I could afford dining out for every meal.
My most recent grocery gripe began when I picked Sunday night to get my goods, hoping to avoid the long checkout lines and crazed soccer moms I’d encountered on weekdays. When I got there, however, I found the store as packed as ever ” and this time, the crowds consisted of tired-eyed college kids and bloodshot-eyed carnival folks.
The cart I grabbed, as always, had squeaky, crippled front wheels, and it seemed to display this quality only after I was a half-mile from the entrance. Still, I ignored the screeching and focused on my short list of necessities.
Even this was a chore. Grocery stores constantly are relocating aisles and items, so every week I go, it’s a new treasure hunt. Just when I remember that peanut butter is in aisle 12, they’ll move it to some obscure location ” like between the potato and tortilla chips in aisle 4. What’s more, the employees stocking the shelves have no idea where things are. I asked one young man where the presliced cheese was, and he said “Prolly around the middle area, I think.”
Wow, thanks bub.
So on this hectic Sunday night, I spent about an hour trying to find 15 items. That was nothing. Only two checkout lanes were open at the end of my journey, and they both had lines 10-people deep. I reluctantly decided to give the empty self-checkout lines another chance. My last experience using those “express” machines had left me waiting 20 minutes for a mustached woman to come over and make sure I wasn’t stealing anything.
From the start of my second-round self-checkout battle, things were going awry. The computer kept telling me I had unpaid items in the bagging area (which essentially is an inaccurate scale that beeps). Worse yet, a line of impatient carnies materialized behind me. They kept telling me what I was doing wrong and groaning each time my screen told me to wait for an overseer’s assistance. The whole ordeal was traumatic, and after a half-hour went by, I just left two of my items behind, figuring they would give me grief as well.
When I got to my car, I was exhausted. Not even my ripped paper bag could stop me from going home and forgetting my troubles.
Unfortunately, when I got home, I spent the rest of the night playing refrigerator Tetris.
I hate groceries.
Mat Koehler welcomes comments at [email protected].
