I’m a terrible shopper. I’m a buyer. Big difference.
Want me to pick up a few items at the grocery store? Sure, happy to oblige. Just keep the list short and don’t call me while I’m there with another twenty items you “forgot” to include. Not happening. Nor am I going to waste a second walking up and down the aisles looking for bargains on things we never use. Like that gallon size tub of butter that’s half off, this week only. What a deal! Except it would take us three years to use it up, long after its expiration date.
No siree “me,” when I go to the grocery store, I am of single-minded purpose and woe to anyone who gets in my way. Except someone always does.
As much as I hate to pick on them, there’s always that one little old lady who can’t decide which jar of pickles to buy. There she stands, staring at one shelf with her carriage blocking my way. She has a knack for that. In fact, I think they teach “aisle blocking” in supermarket etiquette class.
Anyway, she can’t seem to take her eyes off one, and only one, jar. She stares at it like it’s a photo of her grandchildren. You know what? If their last name is Vlasic, it very well could be.
Whatever has her in that trance-like state is beyond me. Why just that one jar? What’s wrong with the other three dozen or so varieties and brands all around it? Is that one jar smaller or larger than she was hoping for? Has the price gone up three cents since her last purchase, thus rendering her motionless?
Ultimately, I don’t give a shit. I just want her to move so I can go about my business. Does she? Of course not. Hell, I think she might even be memorizing the nutritional content. Whatever’s causing this pickle aisle blockade, it’s time to plot my next move. Do I plow ahead at full speed and send her and her carriage airborne? Maybe next time.
Instead, I politely ask: “Excuse ma’am, but can I get by you?” She replies as you might expect: “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was blocking the aisle!” Yeah, sure you didn’t. But still I manage a smile, say thanks, and move on. Good thing, too, because in another 15 seconds or so, someone would be chirping “Clean up in aisle seven” over the intercom.
The Deli Counter
I could write a novella about all the things that piss me off at the deli counter, but here’s one that pretty much tells the story.
For starters, deli counters are always under-staffed. You wait your turn with a numbered ticket in hand to ensure all the customers play nice. Still, the wait seems endless.
So to help pass the time, I turn my attention to the customers currently being served, hoping and praying all they need is a stick of pepperoni and a small container of that lousy macaroni salad. And yet there’s always that “one” you’d like to hurl into a melon bin.
What makes her (trust me, it’s almost always a “her”) so excruciatingly annoying? For starters, she appears to be stocking up for a mega Super Bowl party, even though it’s April and even March Madness is over. What’s she doing, starting a lunch wagon?!
Anyway, she’s already received her first three items when the polite deli employee asks, “Would you care for something else?”
“Yes,” she replies, I’d like a quarter pound of Swiss cheese.”
“Would that be foreign or domestic?
“Hmm, is either one on sale?”
“Sorry, dear, not this week.” (There’s a clue in the “dear”…you’ll see in a minute.)
“Well, which brands do you sell?”
“We have imported and store brand.”
“I see. How’s the store brand, pretty good?” (She already knows it’s cheaper.)
“Not only is it good, many of our customers prefer it.”
“Well, do you think I could try a small slice of each?”
“Of course – I’ll be just a moment.”
A moment, you lying snake? The two of you are practically going steady by now, and I’ll bet you’re not even half way through her order!
But, because I’m under strict orders from Monika to come home with ham and cheese for the kids’ lunches, I have no recourse but to wait this out. So, sure enough, out come the cheese samples, she nibbles at them like the rat I now believe her to be and pretends it’s a tough decision – fifteen seconds or so later, she announces “I’ll take the store brand!” What a shock!
After wrapping up the imported cheese block and placing it back in the case, Mr. deli employee asks: “How much Swiss cheese would you like?”
“Oh, I don’t know, how about a quarter to a third of a pound.”
“And how you would like that sliced?”
“Oh, you know Chuck, thin but not too thin.”
Oh my God, they know each other. What next? I’ll tell you want next, they start talking about her grandchildren and his aching knees. That’s it, over and out. Take your ticket and shove it. As for my boys, Matthew and Anthony: “You want ham and cheese for lunch this week? Well here you go…freshly purchased gift certificates to Subway. While you’re at it, grab yourselves a few bags of chips.”
Moving right along, would you like to hear what’s it like standing behind “that customer,” the one in the checkout line with the weekly circular in hand, ready to argue over every price discrepancy, real or imagined? Sorry, I don’t have it in me. Maybe I’ll just take the kids to Subway.