Friday, May 13, 2005

At the Store

I went to the grocery store today. I had to get some kitty litter, because I’m the go-to guy when it comes to cat crap removal.

Like the Rescue Heroes say, it’s important to know when you’re the go-to guy.

Gloria asked if I could pick up “a couple” of things. No problem.

At the store, I picked up my hand-cart and started shopping. I only needed to get four items (and some flowers). I got the 12-pack of diet soda. Then I got the 14-pound box of kitty litter. And a half-gallon of milk. And a half-gallon of apple juice.

It’s at this point that I believe I exceeded the theoretical maximum weight limit of a hand-cart. That little plastic bin I was carrying with one hand now weighed THIRTY-ONE POUNDS. I was doing that thing where you try to be all cool and walk normally while one arm is stretching like taffy. It basically turned into a Loony Tunes cartoon where I was Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny gave me the shopping list.

Then I got to the checkout area, and the experience went from Loony Tunes to Tim Burton, because there was an altercation. I never gathered all the details, but it involved an elderly checker, an Orson Welles-esque man driving a grocerymobile, and several dozen packages of fryer parts (raw chicken).

I couldn’t imagine anything good coming out of any of that.

When I got home, I told Gloria the story. She said “Why didn’t you just get a regular grocery cart?”

“Do you know nothing?" I asked. "Grocery carts ARE THE DEVIL.” And they are. If you carry a hand-cart, as soon as you walk into the store, the clock is ticking. You’re on your way out as soon as you get in. Get one of those gigantic, wheeled grocery carts, though, and you’re never leaving. You might as well apply to be a night stocker, because that grocery store is now your life. Your wife and children will visit on Father’s Day and birthdays, and you’ll smile bravely when you see them, but they’re lost to you now. The next twenty years of your life will be spent checking cans of soup for peel-off coupons and arguing over which sliced meat tastes “the smokiest.”

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