Monday, September 24, 2012

Dear Shopper on the Same Routine as Me

This happens to me every time I shop.  I run into the same person in almost every aisle I go into.  No matter how I alter what aisles I go down, that person keeps in perfect step with me.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason.  You are not the first person to have done this to me, and you certainly not the best.  You are just the most recent, so therefore the most annoying.  There is no possible way we need to get the same exact things as each other in this grocery store.  I am a giant, twenty something man.  You are a small sixty something woman.  There doesn't seem like there would be a huge overlap in our diets, yet you continue to block me and slow me down in every aisle I go down. 

I was fine all the way through produce.  I apparently just missed you, because when we first crossed paths, you had your cart blocking the poultry fridge.  I know I just missed you in produce, because the only thing you had in your cart was one banana and one squash.  Not one bunch of bananas.  One solitary Chiquita.  Who in Neptune's saltwater-logged beard buys one banana?  I think the FBI actually puts you on some kind of watch list for prying off one banana from the bunch and deciding "Yup, that's just the right amount." Regardless, you were nowhere near the chicken, yet you insisted on blocking it with your cart.   I moved your cart, and you gave me a reproachful look when you came back for your beloved duo of banana and squash. 

To my credit, and my later regret, I let this pass, and wheeled several aisles away to peruse the selection of delicious and nutritious maple syrups, as I am want to do.  You see, if I have a third vice, after cigars and gambling, it would be maple.  Maple syrup, candy, fudge, whatever you can find that is maple, I will fight to obtain it.  Finding a bottle of good vintage and viscosity, I began muttering that waffles must be purchased, and purchased forthwith.  I pushed my cart about one foot and slammed directly into your cart, which you actually had packed perpendicular to both shelves, so it effectively barricaded the aisle.  I can only think that you had to quickly run down a previous aisle and then back up this one to head me off.  My maple addled brain could not fathom the reasoning for this, and you offered no solace to my plaintive whimper of "waffles?"  You only looked angry that I again foiled your plot of being completely in the way as a backpedaled and nearly took out a teenager to get out of the aisle. 

Safely in the freezer aisle, comforted with cool air and the promise of breakfast pastry, I loaded my cart.  Were this a movie, as I pushed my cart down the aisle, the checkout counter in sight, ominous music would begin to play.  As your cart slowly crept into view from behind the end cap, the music would swell, and when your beady little old lady eyes locked on mine as you revealed yourself in all your foul glory and turned into my aisle, the violins would screech like Kathy Griffin being beaten with feral cats.  Having screamed "Sweet lord, not again!" I would quickly retreat and knock the aisle over, trying to stop you once and for all.  This is not a movie, so the only thing I actually did was say "Nope" once you pulled in front of me, and turn around while you peered quizzically at me, like I am the one that has a problem. 

You have the problem, because the only new thing you added to the cart was a pie tin.  I refused to stick around and find out what satanical or kinky things you had planned with your squash, banana, and pie tin, so I ran down the next aisle and got into self checkout, even though I still needed to get some things.  They could wait. 

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