Grocery Store Bitch

I am beginning to think that like many men out there in the meatscape, I am a total and complete fucking tie-up when it comes to shopping for food. It doesn’t matter what the situation is or the cooking circumstances. If you want store-bought product in-hand, and you’re sending me to the food-getting location, then you need to have an hour or two built into the cooking timeline. And a hefty bank account.

The bottom line up front here of this post is that I completely and totally suck dead rhino ass at collecting and paying for food at the local megamart. Trust me when I say that it matters not whether or not I go to the on-post Commissary (known as the “Comma”) or the various local Kansas food outlets (Dillons, Price Chopper, or the ubiquitous Super Wally World). My ultimate success will be limited. The bigger the store, the more painful the experience is… for me.

The first challenge I face when obtaining food is hunger. Suffice it to say that I consistently fail to plan ahead and ensure I’ve put something from the food realm into my gullet before roaming the shelves like a lost hyena. Intellectually, I know you’re not supposed to grocery shop on an empty stomach. In execution, I fail consistently at the simplest of tasks – feeding myself in this case – so this will only continue until I’ve fully fixed my brain.

The main challenge is the list… The List. If you have no list, you  are fucked and doomed to overspending money on food you do not need or want. This results from the overly-alluring displays of awesome vegetables and fruit (I hate fruit) that looks ready-to-eat just sitting there in the automated-mister-with-thunder-sound-effects bin. Seriously, why would you not come home with one of each dewy vegetable or (disgusting) fruit morsel? Right, as I suspected.

So without a list but armed with a vague memory of a slate of food to be procured (you see where this is going, right?), I meander up and down every aisle just to make sure that I don’t overlook some key product. Mostly this means that I’m relying on the products to remind me of what I need. I can assure you that this technique is expensive and destructive. Anyway, I wander the aisles and scoop up everything that seems delicious or otherwise related to the six items I’m supposed to buy.

Then comes the flyby of the meat counter. Just for all the wives out there: DO NOT LET YOUR MAN WALK BY THE MEAT COUNTER UNATTENDED. Not if you are sticking to a budget. I will normally come home with the equivalent of a half-pig, half-steer, and some freezer-burnt shit from the discount bin if not properly supervised. Do NOT ask me about what goes wrong in the bacon and sausage aisle. It is sexual yet disgusting and involves the Homer Simpson drooly sound.

As I move forward, weaving north and south through the well-lit rows, I keep wondering things like, “Does Di need feminine bias Mountain Scent shaving gel?” and “Do you think we ought to try the Appalachian Oyster Sci-Fi Chowder” just out from ProMesso. Dunno, but it goes in the cart anyway. The bread aisle kills me… sourdough, pumperknickel, rye, and three variants of wheat. Yeah. It’s going in my belly along with the five sandwich-sliced oven-baked roast dead animals I ordered at the deli counter. With cheese. Fuck I’m hungry, and the carnage continues as the voices in my head assist me in my task:

“Yogurt? Why not, it doesn’t look disgusting as cottage cheese… oh… and cheese…. cheese!! (insert heavenly light-falling sound) FUCK LOOK AT ALL THAT GODDAMN CHEESE…  [I scoop bags of it into the cart. Next up: frozen vegetables]…. oh hell yeah. Corn, broccoli, green beans, brussels sprouts, corn-on-cob, spinach, collard greens, … fuck it, if it’s green I’m buying some because I’M FUCKING HUNGRY.”

“Hmmm, ok I seem to recall something about eggs and milk… Roger That… dig behind the milk behind the milk, and… cold… Roger. I’m fucking awesome. Knowing the fresh milk technique and shit. Damn, wait…[checks] ok the eggs are all not broken. Sweet. What? Oh damn, no mom should look that good while getting food… [snap] dammit, focus, dickhead.”

Then the moment of pain: “I’m forgetting something critical. Not the extraneous shit on the list… we’re talking do-or-die items that dinner [currently under production mind you] depends upon. No sweat.. pull out my cell phone.. oh shit where is it… fuck me it’s in my Army hat back at the house. FuckmeFuckmeFuuuuuuuuckme. Think….use the brain…wherever it is…”

“Tomatoes. Yeah, can’t go wrong with tomatoes. Oh, and lettuce. We’re probably having salad too… so need green onions and …. that… oh and that too… it’s green. Delicious salad. Squash… why the fuck not? Really. It will go with the pork chops we are cooking next month. Hey, charcoal… yeah, I’m not grilling tonight but you know, you can never have too much charcoal… and… AWESOME! … batteries. Yeah. My MP3 will be rocking the fuck out. Wish I had my MP3 player now to rock this store.”

“Shit… did we need tortillas? Yeah, we always need tortillas. And more shredded cheese for burritos… shit and some more meat to put into the burritos… wait, we were gonna cook schnitzel. Cabbage… onions… gravy mix and one, two, three…. seven, eight mandatory spices. Check. Those were probably on the list, mainly. Especially the garlic and onion powder. And the salt. Holy shit, sugar is on sale…”

Forty-five minutes later:

“Good god, this cart is hard to maneuver through the checkout weave… Christ physics sucks ass… stupid laws of momentum… Damn you, Sir Isaac… shit Di loves those German Christmas cookies…snag! Holy dump look at the tree-shaped marzipan holiday treats… we love marzipan… nom nom nom.”

Checkout Lady: “ID please… thank you… paper or plastic?” [swipes shit over the scanner for most of 20 minutes]… “That will be $209.13.”

For six items? Seriously?