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“Traditionally” on this blog, when a fairly round story number is reached, fiction is temporarily suspended and there is a foray into real life. The problem is, after a dozen years or so, I have run out of things to say! So today I scrape the bottom of the barrel with “Things that get on my goat when I shop for groceries.” Of course, ways of doing things can differ from one country to another. Some of these things, dear Reader, you won’t discover until you’re a bit older!
1. I detest tiny writing on packaging in often light blue letters on a grey background. I’m allergic to peanuts. How am I to know if a peanut has hovered around a product? Of course these days there are so many government regulations that there’s no way everything can fit on a label unless the writing is perplexingly microscopic.
I have the same problem in the shower. (Don’t picture it). Am I meant to wear my spectacles in the shower so I know which is the shampoo and which is the conditioner?
2. In a supermarket things on the bottom shelf are clearly not intended to be sold. I can’t read the price or the name of the product while standing. Am I meant to lie on the floor? My mother – when 87 years – came home after shopping for dishwasher soap tabs and discovered when she couldn’t open the silver foil that she’d bought a carton of condoms.
The same goes for my bathroom scales. I don’t have a clue what I weigh unless I step off the scales, kneel down, and try to read the tiny digital screen.
3. I dislike screaming kids in a shop – and from what I can tell so too do their patient parents. Today a group of siblings were playing hopscotch on the square tiles in the supermarket aisle and they were yelling and screaming in excitement. It sounded like someone had just won a coupon for a free jar of stuffed olives. My negative feelings were exacerbated when I tried to get out of the self-service area and was blocked by the same kids having moved their game of hopscotch.
4. I have no idea why the shop shelves can’t be replenished overnight. I wanted to buy some ham and there was a large loading trolley blocking my access to the shelves. I quietly (I thought) moved the trolley and the shop assistant was not pleased: “Don’t you know I have a job to do.” Fortunately I didn’t answer, otherwise he would have discovered just how f***ing impolite I can be.
5. I dislike it when there is not the product I want on the shelves. I guess things have to run out, but in these computerized days there’s little excuse for not thinking ahead. After all, by the time I get home there’s three emails on my computer saying that spaghetti is on sale. I just bought a packet. Why would I want more? So if they know every little thing I buy why can’t they restock the shelves with raspberry jam before they run out.
Today I drove an extra three miles to another shop just to get a box of tissues.
6. I hate it immensely when this 75 year old has to wait patiently for the assistant to arrive to verify, when buying alcohol, that I am not 17. I now have a reputation in my regular supermarket for saying “Oh the wine is not for me; it’s for my alcoholic cat.” Word must have got around because all the assistants now say the same thing: “More cat food?”
7. I don’t know, dear Reader, what you call the carts you push around the shop: Trundler? Trolley? Shopping cart? Anyway, whatever it’s called I seem to nearly always get one that has one of its four wheels jammed. It’s going fine and I’m just approaching the deli section when thrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr – a wheel jams, and the rest of the shopping experience is loud and strenuous.
8. I am not the most patient of shoppers, especially at the exit counter. “What are these?” asks the shop assistant. Since half my household is French/Romanian we eat a few things that are different.
“They’re Belgian Endives,” I say.
“I’m sorry, Belgian Endives is not on the list.”
“What about Chicory?” I say.
“I’m sorry, Chicory is not on the list.” She waves the paper bag at another shop assistant: “What are these?”
“Witloof.” Of course there are a lot more Dutch than French people in the little town where I shop.
Further examples: “Are these mandarins, clementines, oranges or tangerines?” Grrr – how would I know? “Are these apples Ambrosia, Braeburn, Crispin, Gala, Pacific Rose, or Red Delicious?”
9. The shopping saga is over! I am free! I make my way to the carpark. Someone has parked behind me so close that I can’t access the boot (trunk). I have to put everything on the back seat. I can’t open the back door very wide because another car has parked too close to mine.
10. Finally, no one ever tells you this, you’ll have to wait to see if it one day applies to you. When both hands are engaged carrying grocery bags at my age ones torso tightens and the pants begin to drop. There is not a hand free to pull them up or hold them. Making it from the shop to the car is the last trial to be endured. It’s why there are shopping carts. I push with one hand and hold my pants up with the other. If you see someone doing that it could well be me.
Thank you for enduring this little shopping spree. I trust you will have a happy-go-lucky day!
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