Nothing ruins your weekend more than a trip to the supermarket. I don't know about you, but I don't wake up thinking, "I can't wait to go to a place with loud noises, smelly human beings, and lobsters swimming in a tank awaiting death! Oh, and I forgot the best part! I get to hand them $150 at the end of it all for the pleasure of doing so!" Sure, you get food in exchange for that money, but most of it will just sit in your pantry for about three years anyway. I've had a can of Bush's Baked Beans in my cupboard since I've moved in. It's not that I don't like baked beans...I actually enjoy them very much. The problem is, I don't even have a damn can opener. In my retarded logic it is much easier to simply buy cans with the pop top than actually spring for a can opener. Yes, I am this lazy.
The Supermarket War starts as soon as you enter the parking lot. Just as countries try to establish rally points during a war, people parking their car at the supermarket need to find a spot as close as possible. God forbid the morbidly obese people of America get an extra 20 feet worth of exercise. There are idiots in this world who will pass up a parking spot for one that is literally four spots closer, even if it means waiting for someone to unload their entire cart of groceries, and a baby, into the car. Forget the fact that this ceases all activity around them. These assholes will hold up all traffic in and out of this specific aisle just for the satisfaction of getting the better spot. I won't even get into the asinine battles that take place for a specific parking spot; the Mexican Standoffs between two morons for the feeling of supremacy that only a true douchebag would savor. I usually park further away to avoid all of this bullshit. I enjoy that extra 20 feet of exercise. In my warped universe of zero care towards physical fitness, this is the equivalent of a half hour on the treadmill.
The best way to describe food shopping is like an adult version of bumper cars, except that all of the adults are zombies or assholes. I've noticed that there are a few different categories of grocery shoppers:
The Old People: These geriatrics insist on slowing everyone else in the place down to a halt. Whether it's knocking on a cantaloupe, meticulously checking every egg in a carton, or touching every banana immediately after blowing their nose into their disgusting handkerchief, old people are in the supermarket simply to make your life miserable. I haven't even mentioned those in the scooter-cart things that like to park perpendicular across the aisle, stopping all thru traffic, while they weigh the differences between brand name prune juice and generic prune juice. And don't count the fatasses that use these carts simply because their fat. Old people need these because they are old. Fat people need these because they are fucking lazy and have no self esteem or desire to better their lives. Being fat is fine...I actually dig the people that are fat and just don't give a damn because they just love food, but at least have the decency to walk upright like the rest of us human beings.
The Young Couple: This usually is a pair of twenty-somethings that are still in the early stages of puppy love and just going through the trials and tribulations of living together. Sometimes they even hold hands while perusing the deli counter. "Look at us! We're so cute shopping together!" This makes me sick. What pisses me off even more is when there is some incredibly hot chick shopping while her boyfriend follows behind with this look on his face like he is in the 7th stage of hell. Dude, at least you're going home with that hot chick. I'm a single guy pushing a cart around filled with Hot Pockets, Hamburger Helper, and beer. Suck it up, douchebag...life isn't so bad.
The 40-Something Mom: Truly the champion of grocery shopping. While dad is home watching the kids and trying to watch football at the same time, this warrior is methodically working her way through the aisles cutting down any and all in her way. Taking your time to decide whether to buy Heinz or Hunt's ketchup? Mom doesn't give a shit. She'll hip check you out of the way, grab the family size Heinz with one hand and a bottle of mustard with the other. By the time you've even realized what's happened, she's already grabbed 17 cans of tomato puree and a few cans of tomato paste for good measure. If this woman happens to be a MILF, this is strangely sort of a turn on. If the apocalypse ever hits, I am paying a 41 year old mom to be Sacajawea to my Lewis and Clark as we traverse the dangerous rapids of the supermarket.
The Stoner: This guy just enjoyed a wake and bake, and before he sinks into the sofa to watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force DVDs all day, he decided he better stock up on some munchies. No cart needed, a basket will be sufficient to load up on as much beef jerky, candy bars, and mozzarella sticks as possible. This guy usually wears a hat to try to hide his bloodshot eyes, but everyone except the old people know exactly what's going on. Sometimes you will find The Stoner lost in the bulk foods section, trying to decide between pistachios and whoppers.
The Single Guy/Single Girl: I lump these together, only because they are exact opposites. Single Girl will spend most of her time in the produce section, or the organic food aisles. She is focused on eating healthy and having snacks to eat before she goes to the gym, as she concentrates on keeping her looks up to attract a wealthy man that will support her for the rest of her life. Single Guy, however, can be found in the meat section, or frozen foods. His cart is an embarrassing display of total disregard for personal health. Single Guy can sometimes be found in the produce section, but only to peruse the Single Girls that are there. He may buy some romaine lettuce or fresh green beans, which will sit in his fridge until they go bad. Single Guy usually fantasizes about randomly going up to Single Girl and chatting about produce or favorite recipes, before Single Girl finds his charm irresistible. Shortly after, Single Guy wakes up, grabs another box of Easy Mac, and goes on his way.
There are plenty of other species of shoppers, but I won't take the time to mention them all. If you have one, feel free to mention them in the comments below.
The last obstacle before you're home free is the most difficult one - the checkout. If you've managed to make your way through your shopping experience without any human contact, first of all congratulations. However, the bad news is, you will now be forced to exchange pleasantries with some pimply faced teen, or a 78 year old woman as your cashier. If you've managed to strategically pick the correct lane, you now have to get all your shit on the conveyor belt. You know, the shit you've taken an hour to load into your cart. It all comes out, just so the cashier can put it back in again, so then you can take it out and put it into your car, which you then take out of your car and bring into your house, which you then take out of the bags and load into your kitchen. First though, you have another run in with the 40 year old mom, who is in front of you and keeping a watch on you from the corner of her eye. If you don't throw down that plastic divider before putting your shit on the belt, you better believe she'll slap it down as fast as possible. No way she is letting you steal her Honey Nut Cheerios...that shit is little Lucy's favorite cereal and she'd rather smash your skull against the candy shelf than show up at home to discover Lucy crying because she forgot the Cheerios.
If you're smart enough to use a credit card and avoid coupons, you may be able to make it past the cashier without even having to say a word. The only thing standing in your way are the people at the instant lottery machine, blocking the exit. These are the semi-homeless people who have just cashed their welfare check at the customer service desk and will now proceed to pump all of it into $60 worth of scratch offs, of which five of them will be dollar winners. If you manage to dodge them and ignore the stench of the can/bottle return machines on your way out, you now only need to navigate some asshole camped out for a parking spot before you victoriously reach your car.
Once you manage to get your $150 worth of crap into your trunk and get on the open road, take a deep breath. You have survived one of the most brutal tests we have as humans. Savor those groceries as long as you can, because in a couple more weeks, you're headed back to the battlefield.
Shit, I love grocery shopping.
I'll be back with a new post as soon as I think of something new to bitch about. For now, gotta run...I need to make some Hamburger Helper.
