The Joy of Grocery Shopping

I have a love and hate relationship with the grocery store I shop which is Kroger Marketplace. I love certain things; when strawberries are on sale, the almond butter dispenser and the fresh sushi bar. Really, I love the food in the store but I hate everything else. My hatred for humans has not yet condemned me to ordering food online, yet being the keyword.

When I first walk in, I am immediately relieved if there is not an employee toting flyers telling you about the big deals going on today. Thanks but I can read just as well as you can tell me. If such person is present, I try to not make eye contact and rush past. I am always happy when someone else is caught in their snare as I make it through the doors undetected, without flyer. I am more aggressive with girl scouts, probably because they are little girls. I give them a fierce look, daring them to ask me if I want cookies. They think better of it and continue on.

I generally start with produce. Fruits and vegetables are the most time-consuming. I like to make sure I sift through the selection and buy the best product. It never fails as I am squeezing a peach or examining an orange, some jerk appears to ask if I need help. Yes I do! What are these long yellow things that are all bunched together called? What are these shiny red things with a stem called? Are they exotic? Where am I exactly? Can I really eat this stuff? That’s polite and all but unless I am taking the fruit and throwing it on the ground to determine if it is ripe…I doubt I need help unless I ask.

I make my way to the deli. The mom in front of me with loud, fighting children can’t make up her mind between the sodium filled ham or fatty roast beef or better than both, salami! Well as she is being indecisive and one of her kids chokes the other one over the cart, she doesn’t hear his feeble and possibly final cries for help. I go ahead and look at the selection and have in mind the meat, slice size, and amount. I do this so as not to look like a fucktard when I prepare to order. I finally get my turn and it’s time to place my order to the convict on work release behind the counter.

Deli guys always look like Steve Buscemi. He has blood on him and I wonder if it is the meat he has handled or he had too many prescription pills (note: not prescribed to him) and he cut his finger. Naturally, he gets at least one element of my order wrong. Thanks for the corned beef (I ordered turkey breast), cut into cubes (I ordered sandwich slice), and 6.3 ounces of it (because I ordered a pound).

I move right along to other things in various places. I also try to avoid the sample lady. I will run over the elderly and small children to get away. I don’t want her to talk to me either. Please don’t offer me a cocktail wiener and cheese held together with a toothpick that has been at room temperature far too long.  I’m pretty sure I saw her digging her underwear out of her camel toe and then place Triscuits on the display table.

On to the baking needs isle. This seems to be a common place hook up. Why not? Women often cook and therefore they do have baking needs. When I’ve been hit on at the grocery store it’s been in this particular isle. It’s always a man who seems perplexed with a spice or type of sugar and must ask me, not an employee, for help. Talk turns from baking soda to inevitably a boyfriend. You know men just change it up…we also have to go to the feminine needs isle. I for one would love to be hit on as I select regular or super absorbent tampons.

I’ve made my way through the isles of crying babies, screaming children and motorized wheel chairs that are rarely operated by people who cannot walk, but lazy fatties. I am fairly certain that a low level of activity is what gave them their gelatinous figure in the first place. Why not just give up on walking, moving, or burning any extra calories you just ate at sample lady’s stand? Let’s ride around the grocery store, not paying attention to where you’re going.

When I have only a handful of goods, I like to go to an automated check out. I really like the idea of even less human interaction. It’s also supposed to be quicker. Well, of course people who just arrived on earth only a couple of days ago like to use these when they check out too. They will scan an item if they get past push start, and they’re dumbfounded like Criss Angel just “mindfreaked” them. They look around like a trapped animal instinctively going into fight or flight. The attendant has to help several times and several puzzled people. I have spent more time waiting for these people to figure out how to select payment than just going to a cashier. Equally as bad is the asshole that puts 100 items through these things. It’s uncalled for, and there is even a sign that asks you to limit the items for automated checkout.

If I do go to the cashier I get annoyed because this jerk asks me to donate money all the damn time to something. I will not donate to the Tourette’s Research Fund because I don’t want a cure…Tourrettes is funny. I don’t like being asked to spend any more money, I feel I spent enough. I don’t like how you have to feel like a selfish turd because you won’t donate to the cause. How much money was on those stupid paper hands that I write my name upon to denounce said turdom? How much money will go to the actual cause? I doubt very much. So I say no, and get a look of  infinite disapproval.

Now the bagger has no idea how to function efficiently. The bagger got fired from Goodwill for scaring customers…so if you give it to goodwill you give him a chance to watch you try on a pair of GAP khaki’s that have a hole in the crotch (but they are still GAP pants…score!). This guy leers at me and does not seem to have any eyelids yet his eyes somehow stay glassy and lubricated. Thus, he is able to stare without interruption. Everything he says is a gross innuendo. The thought of sex with this creature doesn’t sound good to me even for money (well you know there is a price). He offers to help me to my car. I know that my loved one’s would like to see me again so I say no. I am afraid the deli guy will be cutting me up tomorrow if I let him.

I make it to my car. I am relieved that this ordeal is over until next week.

 

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