The grocery “landscape”, as we youngsters say, has changed dramatically in recent years. (Actually, just using the term youngsters dates me considerably, but I digress.) For those of us that still remember A & P (that was a national grocery chain – I mention that so millennials don’t have to Google it), we’re overwhelmed by the possibilities of shopping for regular supplies of food. You can now buy fifty rolls of toilet paper at your local jumbo supplier, coffee creamer and car tires at a major discount store (and they’re surprisingly not far from each other), or hamburger buns along with a new sweater and boots at another popular shopping outlet. You can place an order on line and have it ready for pick up at the grocery store, or have home delivery if you want to blow through your lottery winnings in short order. You can even have all manner of meats shipped to you directly from Omaha, Nebraska, which gives whole new meaning to the phrase, “farm to table”.
Many of us, using the old fashioned, tried and true method, wish to actually go to the store to purchase the liquids and solids we consume daily. I remember explaining these intricacies to my daughter when she’d just emerged from college dorm life. She was lamenting the high cost of eating at her local sandwich shops. I told her that some people “purchase unprepared foods in what’s called a grocery store. They bring these home for assembly into meals at a later time. This is called, in the vernacular, “grocery shopping.” Perhaps she noticed just the faintest hint of snark in my voice because this information was not met with the joyful tone of expanding knowledge base for which I’d hoped.
A visit to the grocery store is a true treasure trove of interesting, often amusing life vignettes. I always like to see the purchases of the people in front of me and try to envision a meal from all those things. You get the visual – two donuts, a bag of frozen peas, some cough medicine, two bottles of Coke, a roll of paper towel, and a package of batteries. Dinner is going to be pretty sad. I watch people making their way around the store and wonder how on earth they survive in life. Men typically have two cases of beer, four frozen pizzas, possibly a couple of Lean Cuisine dinners (for appearances only and to balance the pizzas), and a bag or two of cookies. If there is meat at all, it’s steaks or hamburger. Everything is pretty much in the category of “prepared” foods. Not much is fresh or natural, unless you count the hops in the beer. There are aren’t many fruits and vegetables, and the fish and chicken too are safe for another few days. People with small children often find delightful surprises at checkout – sparkly items they neither selected nor wanted.
I tend to go during the week because, well, there are fewer people to get in my way. Some shoppers prefer the “aimless wandering” approach. These folks are much like first timers at a Disney park. Each aisle is a whole new world of wonder, to be taken in slowly from the exact center of the floorspace, so none of us can get by. These shoppers are often found draped over the cart handle – my guess is they don’t want to get caught picking up unseemly speed. The deli counter is always an adventure. It’s fun when you get someone that doesn’t realize they should have taken a number. Now, they’re mad because they’re nine numbers behind, and insistent that they were “ahead of this lady in the blue coat”. Then you get that “snack” shopper, with or without small children. “Could I have a slice of that cheese? I want to see what it’s like.” It’s Swiss, you fool – what do you expect? There are 18 people waiting while you sample and your sluggish brain tries to attempt a decision. From time to time, there’s a shopper that doesn’t know what he or she wants until the moment of decision – the deli person calls their number and they’re deer in the headlights. “Oh, let me seen now.” They’re not unlike the parents at the coffee shop that wait until the last possible nanosecond before asking their adorable child what they’d like. They have to lift the child above the counter so the child can see all the possibilities. Back at the deli, there’s usually one that’s a light eater. “An eighth of a pound of bologna and two slices of cheese.” She’s a frequent flyer because she never orders enough of anything past the next hour or sandwich. You can tell this because she’s often on a first name basis with all the deli person.
The seafood counter can also be entertaining. Most people have decided by the time they’re called what they want. They’ll have two pounds of haddock, thank you very much. I’m always curious about the ones asking, “is it fresh?” Just once, it might be interesting to see their reaction if the person behind the counter replied, “actually, no – it’s been here just over a week. If you don’t buy it now, we’re tossing it back into the sea.” Occasionally, I get behind someone with apparent extensive courtroom experience. “Between the hours of what and what was this caught? Has it been frozen at any point in the journey? What ship did it come in on – it wasn’t one of those Central American freighters, was it? I’d like to see the paperwork and the Captain’s birth certificate.”
I try not to hit our local supermarket at certain times. Friday morning, they’re restocking for the weekend, so the aisles will contain those forklifts they use to bring out the supplies. Monday is also the day they restock after the weekend, and Tuesday is new arrival day, so the entire staff is out back unloading the truck. When you hear that announcement, “all staff report to the stocking room”, you know you’d better hit the self-checkout. Saturday mornings and Sundays, the stores are cluttered with all those unfortunates that have to work. Thursdays in my favorite supermarket is payday, and all the employees are lined up to cash their paychecks. Apparently few of these people trust banks, preferring to conduct all of their business in cash. Which brings me to the checkout line. Every so often I’ll get behind someone that pulls out a checkbook. Really? You’re well into the 21st century, and you’re still using a system invented by Abraham Lincoln’s banker. I write maybe a one or two checks a month – to pay for something interesting from Publishers Clearing House (which I firmly believe, enhances my chances of winning, but again I digress) or to some charitable organization. Some lady ahead of me the other day wrote a check and for some reason, it wasn’t scanning or reading or whatever it does. That check wooshed back and forth in the check slot until I thought it would be like tissue paper when it was done. Something finally clicked in and it went through. The lady was apologetic for holding up the line. I smiled my most disarming smile and told her perhaps she might look into a debit card. I rather think not. as the look on her face suggested she might also get a pet alligator. She emphatically “doesn’t trust” those. Fortunately, she moved on, sparing me a possible story of a dear friend whose card number was hacked and it took 18 months to straighten out. I figure if any hacker gets into my account, he or she won’t get much more than a good chuckle, but once again I digress.
Here is my favorite shopping story. I hope you enjoy it too, because I’d like you to count the number of things this annoying shopper did wrong in the space of about 10 minutes and somehow it seemed a lot longer. She entered the express lane with a cart overflowing with stuff. I waited for the cashier to direct her to another lane, but sadly, no. And equally sadly, I was behind her. She then instructed the cashier “not to ring anything up until she’d put everything on the conveyer” and could give her full attention to the screen monitor. She watched everything ring up slowly and carefully, stopping at one point to inform the cashier in a particularly righteous tone that five items had been rung and she had only four. The cashier reviewed it carefully with her, and indeed, only four had been charged. After an agonizing review of her purchases, she pulled out a third party check. (I know, right? And I swear I’m not making this up – it actually happened.) That required a visit and extended approval process from the store manager. There were of course no traces whatsoever of apologetic tone or hint of remorse. By now, the express lane was backed up well into the pasta aisle. After checking to make sure all her purchases had been bagged to her satisfaction, off she went. (I couldn’t resist – while she still within earshot, I suggested to the cashier that there were better than 50/50 odds she was illegally parked in a handicapped space. The lady apparently did hear me, because she turned and glared. I just smiled and nodded.)
Since retirement, I have taken the European view of shopping regularly – once or twice a day – rather than huge weekly excursions. I’m able to pick up what will be required for dinner that night, along with anything else I think we might need, that I’ve just used the last of, or that looks quite interesting. (I saw packages of goose in the meat section at the holidays, but knew that idea would be shot down with the precision of William Tell.) So, now I find that my entirely reasonable, logical process works extraordinarily well until the next time I clean out the freezer, various refrigerator compartments, and kitchen cabinets to find twelve packages of hamburger, eleven cans of tuna, ten frozen veggies, nine shredded cheese, eight bags of chicken, seven honey mustards, six pork roasts, five loaves of bread, four English muffins, three cream cheese, two spiral hams, and a partri-idge in a pear tree.
I'm Thinking...No! 