I can't quite wrap my mind around the dread that fills my heart when I know it's that special time of week—that's right...grocery shopping day. We all have to do it at some point, don't we? That one day of the week, when you muster all your inner strength and grab those car keys to dive into the unknown? Today was the day. I knew it was coming, too. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the nagging voice in my head whispering “when are you going to do it?” lingered in my mind until the moment the car was stopped just feet from those sliding glass doors of death.
Attempting to get my game face on as I walked my way closer to the striped yellow crosswalk, I was pondering the cost of personal shoppers when— HONK! I whipped my head around as I recovered from my heart attack, trying to resist the temptation to flip of the jerk in the minivan using the parking lot as his race track. Things were already looking deadly—literally.
The second I was inside, it became obvious I had once again, underestimated the grocery store's thermostat. The sub-zero temperature hit me like a tidal wave, covering my body in goosebumps. Why are all grocery stores so cold? Why is it necessary? I mean, I get why the milk and the meat have to be cold...but why do all the magazines, paper bags and bottles of shampoo need to be chillin' too?
Choosing not to ignore the masses of unattractive, fat and rude beings cluelessly bustling around me, I scanned the gigantic room for a cart. Rubbing my prickly arms together to create some friction-induced heat, I made my way to the chaotic buildup of carts, shoved haphazardly into the corner. I grabbed one, trying to ignore the fact the metal handle was actually colder than the air.
As I turned to face my doom, I knew I had two options: Either try to make my way through the moshing humans unnoticed and kindly...or barge through as if I'd just remembered I had six kids to pick up at soccer practice—with snack (it was sad that more than one of the customers ahead of me were doing just that...for that very reason). Today, I knew I would have to be stealthy and use force if needed.
Sucking in some oxygen, I pushed on, whipping around corners with determination, grabbing at the items needed. Bread, check. Yogurt, check. Grapes, cherries, tomatoes, lettuce, check. Was it just me, or was the store getting busier? Every isle I attempted was filled with slow moving mouth breathers—just taking in the awe-inspiring aura of the milk. I looked over my list and sadness filled me, forcing myself accept I was only halfway down it. I knew I was going to need back-up. I whipped out my phone, speed-dialing my brother. On his longboard, I knew I could have an accomplice in less than ten minutes. We had a deal within seconds and I gathered my wits about me in order to make it to our meeting place—the deli. Wistfully, I peered over the stacks of Hamburger Helper and Fresca to see it...the red glowing letters “Deli”. I was so close. I estimated about a three minute wait to get there. In front of me, was a myriad of unintelligence, ranging anywhere from sloth-like workers to oblivious children with pushy adults. Tightening my grip on the cart, I took a daring step forward to try and pick up a little cart speed. Then—just as a pregnant woman with two children in tow moved closer to the chip isle—I saw the opening. Plunging into the open space, I shot ahead. A grin spread across my cheeks—I was really cruisin! At this rate, I'd get to the deli in no time. Then, like a gunshot ringing in my head, I saw her. Granny—moving quickly at a perfectly perpendicular angle towards me. Noooooo! I screeched silently, using all my strength to grab the cart and stop. But it was too late. My cart rammed into hers, knocking over her unnecessarily large pile of plastic deck furniture (yes, in her cart. I didn't understand it either). Scoffing, she began squabbling at me like an angry hen, which I just nodded and took for the sake of time. While apologizing and trying my best to get around her, it became apparent that she simply did not understand the concept of getting out of the way (not that she ever had, right?). I then had to squeeze my body through first and then go around the other side of her just to get my damn cart. Sighing, I turned and once again faced a sea of blank looking faces. Losing the tender-hearted approach, I barged through, unleashing my inner soccer mom. (It's amazing what a little indignation will do for ya).
Before long, I was there...right in front of the deli. And there was my brother, waiting patiently. With a sigh of relief, I handed him my list—happy to embark on the remainder of the trip with a partner in crime. With two hands working, we completed our list and made it through the check-out line without ripping out tufts of hair. Then, the second the outdoor warm breeze hit me, I knew I had survived. I made it to the car without any tread marks on my body, and even loaded the groceries successfully—with room to spare. We popped my God-send brother's longboard in the back and hit the road—leaving the grocery store of death in the dust.