Price Check

Food shopping for me ranks so very high on the list of miserable things to do: root canal, sit in traffic, watch Dina Lohan raise her kids. I know the food industry has made things easier for the consumer; membership cards in place of coupons, self-check-out aisle, barcode scanning, and they even take your order on-line - it’s ready for pick up or delivery. I’m not miffed at the function of food shopping –it’s the social function that prompts my avoidance.


Today, I feared for my safety on the check-out line. The suspect: female, 60-65 years old, alone, few groceries, tall, celebrity-look-a-like = Attorney General Janet Reno, and impatient as a mother fucker.

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Mrs. Reno was behind me in line. The cashier was busy completing an order with a customer who needed change of a $100 and a price check. I think this is what got Mrs. Reno’s blood boiling and the point where she started to unravel. She probably thought, “This is where society is flawed, dipshits bring $100 bills to grocery stores.” I had my groceries loaded on the belt and was patiently waiting for my turn. Mrs. Reno wasn’t quite yet in the line formation. In other words, she and her cart of food hadn’t yet reached the magazines that make you hate yourself, the deflated Happy Birthday balloons, or the Altoids. Mrs. Reno really wasn’t close enough to start loading her own groceries on that belt.

First came the agonizing pain stemming from her shopping cart jamming into my Achilles Tendon. Why, Mrs. Reno – why did you hurt me? Because Mrs. Reno just needed to inch her way a little closer – closer – closer- closer. THERE – Phew – she finally reached that Order-Separator Device (does it have a name)? Back in the day, they would advertise for cigarettes on that thing – I think this one advertised for the movie Hotel for Dogs. Anyway – now that you have your Order Separator Device Mrs. Reno…whatever will you do with it since you’re not close enough to the damn belt? So you think!! And, I don’t think the cashier is going to be confusing these 2 orders anyhow…I’m just saying…

I was already fearing for my life and nursing an injury, so I had decided to either fight or flight. I gave Mrs. Reno some room to load up her jerky, Sunny D, and outdoor bird food. I only had a few things – maybe 12. I probably should have gone to the Express Lane, but as most of you know – I am a rule follower. I do not bag any items. I have an environmentally friendly collapsible basket, which I place next to the cashier. The cashier simply scans the item and places it in the basket, scan-basket, scan-basket, easy! I occasionally get a glare when the item might be meat or frozen (as if I’ve stumped them), but it makes no difference to me. That glare tells me that they’ve been reamed out before by impatient, obnoxious customers who live to scream at people who fuck up their frozen food bagging strategies. One basket, one love.


Mrs. Reno just couldn’t help herself – she just couldn’t wait for my 12 lousy items. Mrs. Reno squeezed behind me (and it was an unbearable squeeze). She did not fit behind me, so her body was against mine in a non-consensual and unwarranted fashion. Her mission? To grab paper and plastic bags, return to her spot in line, and start preparing for the bagging of her order. Really, Mrs. Reno? Really? Was it worth assaulting my heels, pushing me, rubbing against me, and now you’re preparing for the bagging event?
If it wasn’t for the cute deli boys – I would forgo eating altogether and find another source of sustenance.