(and 9 other reasons I don’t like going to the grocery store)
There are some things in life there is no getting out of. What comes to mind are death, taxes, and going to the grocery store. Though I realize the latter may not be at the same level in the spectrum as the first two, at least taxes you only have to face once a year, and death you only have to do once in your entire lifetime. But not the grocery store….. nope….. that one just keeps coming back every week (and if you’re lucky, you’ll forget something and get to go even more.) So let’s vent together about the stress of the grocery store.
1) The “Ma’am”
Cashiers seem to be getting younger (it could NOT be that I’m getting older). The awkward teenage boy at the register handed back my card with a “have a nice day Ma’am”. Everything in my world stopped in an instant. Ma’am? I was only in my 30s at the time, and in MY mind, not THAT far from his age. Maybe it was customer service training gone awry. Or maybe, to a teenager, anyone over 30 all look alike. I tried to laugh but reflexively responded “Did you just Ma’am me? I’m too young for that!” He looked nervous, and said “I was just trying to be polite Ma’am”. There it was again! I still tried to seem jovial, as the knife hung from my heart. I gently tried giving him the advice that, unless someone has proof of qualifying for the senior discount, calling a woman “ma’am” feels more painful than polite. “Sorry Ma’am” he said sheepishly. He just didn’t get it. To a teenager, youngish, young-adjacent, and young-at-heart just don’t cut it. Note to self, never again go through the line of a cashier younger than myself – even if I have to camp out overnight just to be rung up.
2) Cashier commentary.
Though I managed to find women cashiers in an age demographic at least one above my own, I then had a new reason to dread the check-out process. As they pick up each item to scan, some catch their attention, and before I know it they are commenting on everything I’m buying. “Oooh these look good”. “Someone isn’t sticking to their diet this weekend”. “What are these – I’ve never seen these before”. Are you kidding me? As if my own inner voices haven’t already plagued me as I roamed up and down the aisles, the last thing I need is a sports-commentary-esque play by play on my weekly grocery choices.
3) Tiny label print.
We’re told to be mindful when we shop and read the labels to make smart choices. Whoever recommended that left out the fact that you better pack your monocle if you want to be able to actually see the tiny print on those labels. I know I’m no spring chicken, but I’m only in my mid-forties. Though I’m reluctantly reconciling myself to the fact that my vision may be gradually becoming less than stellar, if I can’t read the ingredient list, how could most of the other people in there? So if when you are younger than twenty you don’t care what’s on a label, and during your twenties you feel invincible despite what’s on the label, but after forty you can no longer read what’s on that label, does that mean humanity only has a 10 year window out of a lifetime for successful grocery shopping?
4) The healthier you eat the more expensive it is.
When I was in college and living on pop-tarts, spaghettios and rice-a-roni, I could grocery shop for a week with $20. Now, in the quest for healthy longevity, I’m gaining anti-oxidants but losing all my money. This week I spent close to $100 on groceries for just one person. Salad ingredients, nuts, dried fruit, protein shakes – sure I’ll be healthy, but not have enough money left over to ever leave my house. Next week I may have to choose between vitamins and cable.
5) It makes me think about all the things I’d love to eat.
When I’m home, I can only pick from what’s in my cabinets when I’m hungry. There’s a safety zone in that. But in the grocery store, it’s aisle after aisle of food-fantasy torture. As I put the 5-grain cereal in my cart, I can see the boxes of cake mix beckoning to me. I try to avert my eyes and walk fast to the respectable frozen vegetables, only to feel the pull of the cookie dough telepathically reminding me what it would smell and taste like. Trying to be good, I attempt to convince myself not to make eye contact. I’m pretty sure the queso cheese is flirting with me, luring me towards it. Get me out of here quick! I sure hope you are worth it, health.
6) They keep getting rid of things I like.
I think we all have our weekly staples – those things you get every week without even needing to put it on a list. They are the framework upon which we build each day. Our favorites. But more and more it seems they keep disappearing – to make room for the newer trendier versions. Sure there’s sleek colorful packaging and an inviting advertisement placed right at eye level to convince us that this is the best new thing we can’t live without. But how about that old tried and true thing I can’t live without? To make room for all the new variety, does the mature product really have to go away completely? Can’t they all exist together in harmony? Is my favorite peanut butter the older woman being ousted by a younger, newer model? I like my peanut butter with a little experience, thank you very much.
7) Germs.
Forget the self-scanners, I think they should put hand sanitizer dispensers at the end of each aisle. I can’t think of many other places where it is acceptable for people to touch so many things. We pick up pieces of fruit trying to decide which ones look best and which we’ll put back. We pick up countless boxes to read their nutrition information and then return them to the shelf. We put our food down on the floor of the cart and then on the cashier’s conveyor belt before putting them down on our home counters. We hold on to the handle of that cart and touch the keypad on the credit card machine after countless others. I keep a bottle of Purell in my car for these very occasions. I wish every grocery store had them at the entrance and exit.
8) I feel guilty about the bags.
I’m a good person. I recycle. But I don’t want to buy re-usable bags to put my groceries in. First of all, I won’t always remember to bring them. Sometimes I can barely remember to keep gas in my car. And if I just leave them in my car, without ever bringing them in to wash , they will become just as germy on the inside as those carts. Also, I re-use the bags they give me each week. The paper bag becomes my paper recycling container, since we have to keep things separated in my town (and they can get pretty feisty if you don’t). The plastic bags become poop bags for my dogs. Not glamorous, I admit, but important. So everything gets used again in the circle of life. Maybe instead of passively making me feel bad for not bringing my own, the baggers could put more than 2 things in each bag, or not double bag, and we can cut down on waste that way?
9) I feel guilty not contributing to their cause of the month.
Aren’t we all thinking it, but no one wants to be the one who speaks up? Standing in line, with people all around you, being asked “would you like to donate a dollar to (fill in the blank cause)?” If I say no, like I want to, is everyone thinking I’m selfish? I had enough money to buy that pint of Ben & Jerrys but not one extra dollar to help the (fill in the blank)? But if you run into the store multiple times per week for just a few items each time, those dollars add up. I have specific causes I care deeply about and try to give to those when I can. But no one in that line knows that. (This is when I wish I was back in the line of that teenage boy, who just recites his cashier script, and won’t bat an eye if I say “no”.)
10) Kids selling cookies outside.
They get you when you’re walking in and again when you’re walking out. There’s really no escape since they park their table right in front of the doors. I don’t know which is worse, the hopeful eyes of the kids or the judging eyes of the parents standing over them. If I wanted cookies I would have just bought them inside since it’s a grocery store. Maybe I’m on a special diet and can’t eat cookies. Maybe I just spent all of my money on expensive healthy food and don’t have any left to give. My husband says “yes” because he feels for them – standing out there all day trying to raise money. I feel like it’s the principle by that point. I have just survived the grocery store – with all of its “ma’am”s, cashier commentaries, guilt trips, and eye-straining product labels. I’m finally at the home stretch if only I can get past this one last land mine. “I’m sorry, not today, but good luck” I say, trying to at least keep some good karma by being nice about it. I make it to the escape car, only to realize I forgot something on my list. I’m still here in the parking lot, but it just doesn’t seem worth the battle of going back in. It can wait until next week.