Grocery Shopping 101
Going to the supermarket is a complicated excursion, what with the dazzling lights, bright colours, and, of course, the people.
My difficulties in this arena were recently aggravated when I moved house. One of the attractions offered by my new abode was the nearnessto purchasable, edible goods. The closest thing to a food store in my last suburb was a petrol station that sold milk, but not petrol, which made me suspicious of the milk.
Here, though, there are a number of alternatives: a shortwalk down the road brings me to a grocery store, as well as a wood-fired pizza place; while only a short drive brings me to not one but two supermarkets.
In the beginning, I believed that the grocery store offered the greatest benefit. I could get a little exercise on my way to picking up chocolate, ice cream and… fruit (yes, let’s say fruit)… supplies. This worked well for a while, until the day of The Ice Cream Incident. Such a traumatic event is probably worth a longer explanation, but I’ll try to sum it up:
I bought ice cream.
It was icy (in the bad way) and tasted off.
It made me want to cry.
So, I never went back there again.
I found myself forced to try one of the supermarkets. WhileI had to drive, the supermarket possessed certain positives – it sold decent ice cream, a greater range of chocolate, and even quinoa. Quinoa is, of course, cat food for humans. That is, it actually has about as much nutritional value as you can find in any one foodage. As a result, this supermarket had particular dietary value.
Unfortunately, my affair with this establishment didn’t last long.
After only my third successful shop at… let’s call it Kohls, I merrily returned to my car. Unfortunately, as I reversed from my spot, dreaming about the delicious potentials of chocolate mixed with quinoa, I hit the car behind me.
I should have known that this would happen. Well, perhaps not this precisely, but something of the like. After all, I am well aware that I cannot park, or reverse from a park, to the left. I ALWAYS park to the right for this very reason, but on this particular day, my arrogance got the best of me. “I can park to the left,” I thought, but I was wrong.
Now, you, just shush. So you can park to the left? Whatever. I bet you can even do a reverse park. Possibly you can even turn right at intersections. That doesn’t mean you’re better than me! NO! … although it might mean you’re a better driver.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so I hit this car.
Thankfully, the car wasn’t scratched, or dented, and the driver seemed unperturbed, but all the same, I was a little mortified. Believe it or not, hitting someone’s car is actually MORE stressful than being hit by someone else’s. It is certainly more embarrassing.
Despite the assurances of the other driver, I became irrationally paranoid on the way home. What if they WERE angry, and just pretending to be nice, so they could wait in the car park until I returned, at which point they would smash in my windscreen? Or worse! What if they felt fine about the incident until they next saw my car leaving the car park and then, BAM, they just flipped, followed me home, and stole my ice cream? Or worse! What if I saw them again and had to apologise again and had to be embarrassed again. It was all too horrible.
So, I never went back there again.
I had one more supermarket to try (we’ll call it Woolway).
Woolway was great. It was clean, shiny, and with every type of foodage that I could desire. We got along great for over two months.
And then they decided to renovate. Obviously, this threw me into a state of confusion and terror, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that the construction and disarray was a temporary state. I would just not eat until they were finished.
When they finished, however, EVERYTHING WAS DIFFERENT.
Everything had moved. Everything had swapped places. Nothing was the same. I looked for quinoa and found toothbrushes. I looked for chocolate and found dog food. Worst of all, I looked for ice cream and found fruit (yes, really, fruit)!
The problem is, I can’t live offwood-fired pizza. I have tried, but it’s just not the same as living off icecream and chocolate.