I’d Rather Fucking Forage

I’m like most women when it comes to hating certain household chores, though the responsibility I detest the most is (wait for it…) GROCERY SHOPPING.  This hatred of all things shopping is nothing new.  I recall a conversation initiated by my SO a few years ago after returning home from running errands.  It went something like this:

SO: Were you grocery shopping?
ME: *gives death stare*
SO: *coughs nervously*
ME: WHAAAAAAAAAAT?
SO: You’re face is red and I see smoke coming out of your ears.
ME: Who the hell do you think you are?  Sherlock-fucking-Holmes or something?
SO: *moment of silence* then, “I’m just saying that every time you go grocery shopping, you get bitchy.
ME: *pitches a box of Pop Tarts at his head*
SO: walks away muttering to himself, “don’t do it, you’ll hate prison.”

Prison

Poor SO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is no denying the fact that grocery shopping is evil and vile and is probably an undocumented characteristic of serial killers that the F.B.I. refuses to share.  I sincerely believe that as a child, Ted Bundy was forced to attend frequent grocery shopping excursions with his mother, which therefore led to his ultimate dissolution of sanity.

 

Ted Bundy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think the following statement should be included in the F.B.I. Profiler’s Handbook: Recent studies have shown that children exposed to grocery shopping may experience immense fits of rage and unpredictable levels of psychosis as adults.

Below are just a few issues I find unbearable:

  1. Parking Lot:  If ONE more person bumps into my awesome fucking Kia Optima with their shopping cart, I will follow them home and throw a grenade through their bay window.
  2. Cart Driving: There is no license for this, yet it seems there should be.  Seriously, how hard is it to steer a mid-sized plastic (maybe steel?) tote-on-wheels down a fucking aisle?  Are you drunk?  Were you dropped on your head as an infant?  Do you not see me coming in a frantic rush to get the fuck out of dodge?  MOVE THE HELL OVER!
  3. Idle Cart:  I don’t understand the incessant need for some people to just stop in the middle of the fucking aisle to talk on their phone, chat with their neighbor, or pick their ass.  Again, MOVE THE HELL OVER!
  4. Cashier Drivel 1.0: Mostly, this doesn’t bother me, however it needs to be said that I didn’t come to this god-awful place to strike up a conversation like we’re long lost pals.  Can’t you see the sweat, anxiety, and angst on my face?  Just scan my shit so I can escape this torment.
  5. Cashier Drivel 1.1: This relates somewhat to Cashier Drivel 1.o.  My friend currently works at our local grocery chain, and they are required to ask every customer, EVERY TIME, “did you find everything okay?”  This seems logical and courteous to me unless I HAVE ONLY ONE ITEM!  Did I find everything alright?  Well, since you asked,  “Fuck no!  I came here for a Kumquat, but since you don’t sell them, I decided to forego asking for help, or reference Google Maps, or call the fucking NSA, and just decided to buy a box of tampons instead.”
  6. Self-Check: Am I the only person who thinks the idea of people scanning their own shit is a bad idea?  I don’t recall a single time where I’ve gone through this lane that didn’t result in some sort of challenge.  The last time I did feel heroic enough to endure this nightmare, the machine proceeded to advise me, in its mechanical voice, “YOU…ARE…AN…IMBECILE.”
  7. Cheap Bag Syndrome: There is currently only one establishment that is on my Cheap Bag Syndrome shit list and that’s Wal-Mart.  You can place ONE pair of socks in these bags and the fucker will invariably rip.

 

Chaos

Chaos

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Despite my hatred of the whole shopping experience, I will admit that there is one store, a treasure if you will, where I could spend an entire afternoon and feel as though I’ve been on some spectacular vacation.  A place I leave smiling, bursting with youth-like exuberance.  A place where angels sing and my soul trembles with ecstasy.  A place where the nearest location is 50 god-damn miles from my back door!

This place is Trader Joe’s.

Swoon

Swoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m going to contact this Mr. Joe fella in an effort to negotiate that he expand his business to “a location nearer to me.”  I’m thinking my garage would work just fine.

If nothing else, I can argue that he’ll be preventing the Jeffery Dahmer’s, Ted Bundy’s, and Ed Gein’s of tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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