Sunday, November 21, 2004

I Hate The Store

Wow, big shocker here; I'm sure you, esteemed reader of these lithographic gum-scratchers, would never have fathomed that this author lacks the patience for public places such as the grocery store. I should point out that it's not a function of arrogance, or snobby philosophies, that keep me cringing at the thought of standing shoulder to shoulder with Hal the partially bathed carnival accident. My apprehensions stem from years of patience, politeness, and courtesy in these environs, and having those gestures rewarded with anything a selfish jerk could throw at me. Let's head off to the store, shall we?

Since I only need a few things, I can use one of those handy, convenient mini baskets. They should be right here, next to the door...well of course not. I've actually never seen a stack of them by the door. I don't even know where people find these baskets. There's got to be a secret type of basket club, like the Freemasons. Hell, that might be a benefit of being a Freemason. Well, suppose I'll have to grab a regular old shopping cart here...

Fantastic. I love when I get the cart with one bad wheel, some sticky mystery kleenex, and 1200 old coupons in the bottom. Count me in, boss!

Let's jump right into the sweet-smelling of the produce section. Wait, dodge the fruit flies that have been living inside those disgusting tangelos. I'm not altogether sanguine that some of these perennially untouched fruits are edible. My bet is that they wait a few weeks, entomb it in some type of fruit varnish, and display these juiceless, colorful little Lenins for all to observe and fear. In a few millennia, a spelunker will unearth these treasures up in the Ural mountains and claim they're from Noah's ark. Hey, he/she/it might be right. Well, let me grab a handful of this delicious, fresh spinach so I can -- hey -- oh dandy, the carefully timed sprinkler ambush has swung into action once again, showering me in ice cold clam water, while rendering these morsels of vegetation just a bit more moldy than before. Well, that was refreshing.

Down to the meat section, oh this should be fun. Great, granny's right in front of the four remaining packages of ground beef. Soon as she moves along to the left, I can slither in and grab a pack...

- Granny goes left, I start to go right
- Granny goes right, so I swing left
- Back to the left for granny, I cut back, around, twisting my back, oy!
- Granny swings the cart around, gotta swing back out of the way
- Granny gets a forearm shiver to the glasses, falls into the cold meat display, and we all chuckle with the foreshadowing.

Down goes Granny! Down goes Granny!

Cool, got the meat - I'm thinking about sloppy joes tonight... fun on a bun. Bulemics love to use it over and over again. As I think about those yummy sandwiches, I pause for a few sloppy seconds. Moha! I made a funny. Sloppy seconds. Sew up my side! Oh, just kill me. I suppose I'll leave my cart here and walk the treacherous aisles of Montezuma. Though, hmmm, every time I leave my cart somewhere, it always gets moved around, since people always seem to want to grab merchandise that's perched immediately behind my precious YumMobile. Ah, here's an idea, I'll put the ol' basket by these squid eggs and canned seahorse liver. Oh no! 25 Japanese tourists! Oh the humanity! I apologize for the concentration camps! We thought you guys couldn't concentrate! Whoo. After that trampling, I can barely hang onto my tasty meat n' sloppy joe sauce. The fruits of a hard day's labors are always savored.

Now I'll zip over by the frozen foods section here and...JESUS CHRIST...why do they even bother with doors on these freezers? It can't be 35 degrees over here. Man, where are the walruses...oh, well there's a fat lady, close enough. Just remember, male walruses and caulk both like to work on a tight seal. Hey! He's on fire. I wish I were on fire, as it might melt some of the icicles off my face. Maybe I'll grab some of these Banquet frozen meals. Oy vea - 10 for 10 bucks? Great deal and all, but should I trust anything this cheap? I'm a bit scared now. I'd somehow feel a lot safer if it were overpriced - like maybe because the talented Banquet chefs took too much care.

Need to grab my personal staple, that zesty "sodee pop". The nectar of the clods. Hmmm, Fanta. Nah. Not sure about the Fresca there. A little burnt out on Nehi, Mr. Pibb, and Teem. Green River! Take one of those. Man, how about just plain Diet Pepsi...anywhere here? Not by the Tab, Like, Pepsi Free, Pepsi Light either. Not quite in the mood for the Canfield's Farmer Frank's Watermelon soda or whatever that is. Don't need the diet creme soda either, I'll let the grandmothers field those.

Well hell, maybe I'll stop by that fabulous deli and grab some freshly sliced corned beef. Mmmm, nothing like some of that on a nice slab of rye bread and nasty mustard. But wait, of course there's the New York Stock Exchange pit of traders standing in front of the counter. Of course they don't bother paying attention to the take-a-ticket concept any longer, so it's every fat mom for themselves. And the one who wants everything her own special way.... "I want that cheese sliced really thin. No that's too thin. That's too thick. No give me the Land O' Lakes American cheese instead. Too thin. Too thick. I only wanted half a pound." you want the worker to sign the cheese for you too, Blanche? Let the poor dumpy lady go home and do some exercises to work off that 500 gallon ass.

Time to check out. Ok, this register has the cart piled to the hilt. Next one. Cool, put my stuff on the belt.

"I'm CLOSED sir"

Thanks for the hint, Bitcheralla. Try flipping that "closed" sign up, kind of like the sign that I'm flipping up right now. Next one...99 year old man with 10 bags of kitty litter, arguing about the whippersnapper that charged him too much ("In my day this woulda cost me a plug nickel"). Next one over...too many people that can't speak English. Ok, there's always this new fangled self checkout thing. It's wide open. Wanna know why? Because it's god damn BRAIN SURGERY. I've worked in machine code, assembly level programming, have programmed mainframe computers, designed dozens of programs, and I can't even figure this thing out. Hell with it, I'll sit and listen to the kitty litter man's angry rants. Cool, he's shaking his fist now too.

Uh oh, back home, and now it's late, and I forgot to pick up some sleeping pills to knock me out for the remaining 3 hours of the night. Back to the lovely 24 hour fluorescent paradise I go! Hey, found the aisle right away, turning the corner, and....oh great. The floor cleaning guy. Why does every store have the same floor cleaning guy? 67 years old, Russian, angry, scary, evil, snarling, and certainly the reincarnation of any of those spooky villains from those abysmal Scooby Doo episodes. Well, I'll just ignore him and reach around to get the bottle...

"Bradlavosh eee no waztilovaomeewetfloor"
"Whatever, Ponch. Thanks for playing."

I think I'll start using Peapod...