The sedation of the shopping peregrination
Today was a snow day, and therefore I had no school today. Let me set this up for you, the roadways had maybe the slightest coating on water on them. Not ice, not snow, just good ol’ molecules of two hydrogens mixed with an oxygen. The entire metroplex, save Dallas, decided to cancel school because of the scary white stuff falling, and thus we canceled too.
So, this was nice, I slept in until noon, and then I decided I needed to go grocery shopping. This was a bad, bad, bad, bad mistake.
At the time, it didn’t occur to me that every cracked out mother in town would be dragging her kids along with her down every single aisle at Wal-mart, debating on the value of ball park franks vs. oscar meyer wieners.
I’d like to think I made it a good fifteen minutes before homicidal tendencies started arising within myself. The tuna incident, however, pushed me over the edge.
I had made it through half the food isles at Wal-mart, and I was within sight of the tuna and the soup. Lately I’ve been on a tuna kick, I like to mix it with my easy mac, and dammit, I was out of tuna. As I progressed down the isle, there were people in front of the tuna. This is fine, but when I hear their conversation, the homicidal tendencies came along full force.
You see, it was two teenage girls shopping with their mother. They were maybe 17 years old. The mother was talking about how Starkist tuna hadn’t tasted the same since the late nineties, and chicken of the sea tasted too fishy. Well, instead of picking one, they stood there, like Charlie the motherfucking Tuna was going to pop out of the selves and help them with their big decision.
He didn’t.
I also didn’t have the heart to tell them that chunk light in water isn’t fishy, and it doesn’t taste fishy unless you get albacore, but I digress.
I’ve decided that I shouldn’t grocery shop on days in which the kiddies are out of school. They fan out five wide down the aisle, and then you have to stop and let them pass, all the while they’re asking mommy why the hell can’t they have the new scuba steve doll.
Because I said so.
As I was leaving the store, and the check out girl handed me my receipt, she looked me in the eye and said, “Stay safe out there,” as if I was going off to war, and there were land mines planted next to the old person greeting people at the door. She said it with the uptmost sincereness, as if she truly believed that the world outside was unsafe and was a disaster waiting to happen.
I just nodded and smiled.
If I ran a Wal-mart, and was born into the Walton family, I’d offer valium, xanax or ativan at the door. People will have a better shopping experience, which means they will buy more, and that, in turn, means I won’t kill your five your old for demanding the plasma screen tv.
Deal?
Saturday night grocery fever
So, tonight I decided to head to the grocery store. I opted for the one closest to campus, an Albertsons, because I didn’t really feel like driving to Wal-mart or Tom Thumb just to see that there were, in fact, no parking spaces. Plus, I hate crowded ass stores. I enjoy pleasant shopping experiences, especially when I don’t know what the hell I want.
I’d never been to this Albertson’s before, let alone on a Saturday night. I try to avoid the grocery store on Saturday, since that is when everyone and their dog decide they need groceries. I’d also never been to an Albertson’s across the street from a college campus on a Saturday night, and quite frankly, it wasn’t what I expected.
There were several classifications of people abound.
First, you have me. The single, unkempt male college student, aimlessly wondering around the store looking for something to eat. Said single college student is usually wearing a t-shirt and shorts, some type of sandal, and a hat. They don’t care that they’re alone on a Saturday night, and just want to be home.
Next, you have the single, unkempt female college student aimlessly wandering around the store while making every effort not to be seen grabbing food. This person usually spends a few minutes in the produce department before moving on and grabbing real food before speeding to a self-checkout. This person can be identified by the sweatpants (possibly saying something across the ass), a plain t-shirt, and flip flop sandals.
Enter the people going out for a night on the town. First, you have the female, ready to go out partying and a-boozin’ with her friends or SO. You may see this person at the flower department, buying a flower for their boyfriend after she fucked her best friend, or buying a flower for her best friend after she fucked her best friend’s boyfriend. They should be avoided at all costs, as they might fuck you too, but feel really bad about it in the morning.
Don’t forget about the pack female. You’ll never see this person alone, as they always travel in a pack of usually three or more. They will always be seen laughing and talking loudly. It is usually unknown what in fact they buy, if anything, as they usually walk around, without a cart or one of those plastic hand baskets. Avoid at all costs if you suffer from any kind of allergy or breathing difficulty, as the perfume smell is deadly.
A cultist sect of the pack female is the sorority female. These can be identified because they are all wearing the same thing, thinking the same thing, not to mention never traveling in a group less than ten. Avoid at all costs…because they’re annoying. After all, if you want to be greek, move to Greece.
Another person to watch for is the single male, usually around 30-50. This is a rightist branch of the single college male, and they usually wonder around aimlessly, thinking about the good times. They were divorced five years ago, and obviously have nothing better to do on a Saturday night. You can normally identify them by the sad look on their face, the worn pair of jeans, and the nice shoes.
I’ve saved the worst for last. That’s right… the PDA couple. This couple sticks out like a Jew standing in a full room of Nazis. These are the people that are hanging onto each other, hugging and kissing. They may or may not be actually shopping. By their actions, they’ve probably only been together for a week or two and haven’t fallen into the pit of despair that encompasses all seemingly happy relationships. Avoid these people like you’d avoid zombies, their aim is jealousy, which just ends up being annoying…unless you’re them.
Sadly, this is just a small microcosm of the people you encounter at the grocery store on a Saturday night, and it probably does not even scratch the surface. After all, this is just about 10% of the shoppers. One could make it even more fun if they started to analyze the employees, but alas…
Maybe the next time I’m stupid enough to go to the grocery store on a Saturday night.
