There’s a reason why I don’t grocery shop
Actually, there appears to be several reasons why I don’t grocery shop on a regular basis. For your consumption, here they are.
(a) I am constantly drawn to the Check Out By Yourself area because I really like making that beeping sound.
Look. I know that it’s not really me making that sound, but I’m responsible for it and that provides me with a semblance of control.
WHY?
(b) Because I can never find a grocery cart that I can control. Ever see that girl in the aisles, bumping into other grocery carts and all too often…people? That’s me.
WHY?
Because there can be 7,926, 832 shopping carts and I will choose the one cart that doesn’t work. And I’m too embarrassed to go back and change it because there’s usually creeps (ok. They’re children.) at the entrance of my grocery store asking for a donation. And I never have change (why did they invent interac?). “Fancy a lipstick?” just doesn’t cut it with the monsters.
So I trudge along with my bastard of a grocery cart, smashing in to everything and having absolutely no direction whatsoever. I end up buying diapers because that’s where the evil grocery cart takes me (and if you can’t find toilet paper…).
(c) Have you seen the swirly things on which you’re supposed to place the items you’ve already checked out? It measures everything by the gram and then screams at you if you’re missing a piece of lettuce that once sat on the other side of the machine before you swiped it. (If you take too long, dust accumulates on the ‘already swiped’ objects and the machine thinks you’re stealing. Cotton balls. One by one.)
Don’t ever place a long loaf of bread on the swirly thing. Or flowers for that matter.
WHY?
Because they will get stuck and they will break and split and draw everyone’s attention when you’re panicking and turning the little wheel to access the next shopping bag that you can’t open because panic means sweaty palms.
And you may as well have dipped your hands in trans fat because that’s what it feels like when you’re trying to open the plastic bags and there’s a crazy woman behind you tapping her feet and smacking her gum while she reads Soap Opera Digest and her offspring is screaming because their hands are stuck to the frozen turkey (not really, but they’re dumb and the natural instinct to ‘pull hands away from freezing object’ doesn’t register) and the machine is repeating Please place next item on tray and you can hear her giggle and the grocery store comes to a screaming hysterical halt to listen to your trans fat covered hands scrape away at the plastic bag right before you start blowing on the top of the plastic bag with the final prayer that maybe, just maybe, the air will magically open the bag for you. And when it finally does open, Chariots of Fire starts to play in your head and then. Then. You realise that it didn’t actually open, but that you managed to disjoin two plastic bags from one another and there’s still no bag for you to shove anything in to.
It’s really disturbing.
(d) People aren’t friendly in the grocery store. It’s all about them and their carts and me and my evil one. The other day, I was standing quietly in an aisle thinking about the effects of more cookies on my ass, when I got bumped.
HOW?
I was literally “bumped” by a man’s grocery cart. He was about 361 years old and he decided that rather than going around me, he would just go through me. Maybe he couldn’t see me.
But surely he could hear the “Excuse me”
bump
“Pardon me, sir?”
bump
“HEY! STOP HITTING ME!”
bump
It was really sad, not because he’s probably dropped dead since that day, but because I caved and moved. I NEVER CAVE. But I caved. It was either that or throwing a box of cookies at him. I moved.
(e) But back to the Check Out By Yourself Area. Why is this problematic? Because I’m usually the only reject that needs the 14 year old cashier girl to come over and hit the buttons for me.
And no matter how cool my outfit may be, there’s nothing hot about you when the 14 year old cashier girl comes over for the eighth time and you’re only buying three items.
I’ve decided to throw out my fridge and eat out from now on. P.S. I’ve not slept in two days and this is what I’ve come up with this morning.
(a) I am constantly drawn to the Check Out By Yourself area because I really like making that beeping sound.
Look. I know that it’s not really me making that sound, but I’m responsible for it and that provides me with a semblance of control.
WHY?
(b) Because I can never find a grocery cart that I can control. Ever see that girl in the aisles, bumping into other grocery carts and all too often…people? That’s me.
WHY?
Because there can be 7,926, 832 shopping carts and I will choose the one cart that doesn’t work. And I’m too embarrassed to go back and change it because there’s usually creeps (ok. They’re children.) at the entrance of my grocery store asking for a donation. And I never have change (why did they invent interac?). “Fancy a lipstick?” just doesn’t cut it with the monsters.
So I trudge along with my bastard of a grocery cart, smashing in to everything and having absolutely no direction whatsoever. I end up buying diapers because that’s where the evil grocery cart takes me (and if you can’t find toilet paper…).
(c) Have you seen the swirly things on which you’re supposed to place the items you’ve already checked out? It measures everything by the gram and then screams at you if you’re missing a piece of lettuce that once sat on the other side of the machine before you swiped it. (If you take too long, dust accumulates on the ‘already swiped’ objects and the machine thinks you’re stealing. Cotton balls. One by one.)
Don’t ever place a long loaf of bread on the swirly thing. Or flowers for that matter.
WHY?
Because they will get stuck and they will break and split and draw everyone’s attention when you’re panicking and turning the little wheel to access the next shopping bag that you can’t open because panic means sweaty palms.
And you may as well have dipped your hands in trans fat because that’s what it feels like when you’re trying to open the plastic bags and there’s a crazy woman behind you tapping her feet and smacking her gum while she reads Soap Opera Digest and her offspring is screaming because their hands are stuck to the frozen turkey (not really, but they’re dumb and the natural instinct to ‘pull hands away from freezing object’ doesn’t register) and the machine is repeating Please place next item on tray and you can hear her giggle and the grocery store comes to a screaming hysterical halt to listen to your trans fat covered hands scrape away at the plastic bag right before you start blowing on the top of the plastic bag with the final prayer that maybe, just maybe, the air will magically open the bag for you. And when it finally does open, Chariots of Fire starts to play in your head and then. Then. You realise that it didn’t actually open, but that you managed to disjoin two plastic bags from one another and there’s still no bag for you to shove anything in to.
It’s really disturbing.
(d) People aren’t friendly in the grocery store. It’s all about them and their carts and me and my evil one. The other day, I was standing quietly in an aisle thinking about the effects of more cookies on my ass, when I got bumped.
HOW?
I was literally “bumped” by a man’s grocery cart. He was about 361 years old and he decided that rather than going around me, he would just go through me. Maybe he couldn’t see me.
But surely he could hear the “Excuse me”
bump
“Pardon me, sir?”
bump
“HEY! STOP HITTING ME!”
bump
It was really sad, not because he’s probably dropped dead since that day, but because I caved and moved. I NEVER CAVE. But I caved. It was either that or throwing a box of cookies at him. I moved.
(e) But back to the Check Out By Yourself Area. Why is this problematic? Because I’m usually the only reject that needs the 14 year old cashier girl to come over and hit the buttons for me.
And no matter how cool my outfit may be, there’s nothing hot about you when the 14 year old cashier girl comes over for the eighth time and you’re only buying three items.
I’ve decided to throw out my fridge and eat out from now on. P.S. I’ve not slept in two days and this is what I’ve come up with this morning.
Labels: Dork
posted by just a girl at 10:50 AM
6 Comments:
LOL!!!
I'm dying! omg Maha! omg, grocery shopping has never been this hilarious!
which I need to do...dangit.
i'll be wandering down an aisle and remember this and start laughing. can you imagine the looks? someone will come over and ram me with a cart to make me shut up!
I'd be happy to volunteer to be your personal shopper. I always choose the wonky cart, too, and get intimidated by the monsters and tri-centenarian rudies.
But I love making the beepy sound, too, so just send me along to the store with your list, sugar.
xoxox
Espy
Michelle -- For me, and only if someone does actually ram you with a cart. Lead them down to the cookie aisle and then throw a bag of cookies at them. Tell them it's for the sisterhood.
Espy -- How great is it that I'm not the only fool who become somewhat hypnotised by that sound!!!! I'll make a list...it starts with cookies :)
mmmmmwah,
m
Don't forget about the mysterious fart cloud that you walk into every once in a while...abandoned by it's owner in aisle 5.
LOL! Lisa!!!! That's awesome. Wow. I'll really have to not run into that ;)
And I promise to *not* think of you should I cross that wall...
xo
m
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