Don’t get me wrong. I love to shop. Too much. Ask anyone. I buy things in bulk that I will never be able to use or consume (does anyone remember my first caselot sale where I ended up with 48 cans of peas?). I have been liken to a magpie by Big G, lured to all things shiny and out of my price range. So you would think I would be totally down with going to the grocery store, right?
I went to the grocery store yesterday with my trusty list, going through and marking things off, and it was relatively quiet. The weather was terrible, the roads hockey rinks. Few had made the attempt. And I was pumped. Until half of what I wanted to buy was missing. Missing. How does a grocery store run out of sour cream? Diced green chili? FRESCA?! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THE WRATH!
So on the way home, I decided to swing by the grocery store. I figure, it wasn’t that busy yesterday, and most people would go shopping on a weekend right?
The store was like a scene from Resident Evil just as the zombie apocalypse is starting and people are desperate for food. The parking lot was full of drag racing insane people, there were infinity people jostling for the last bottle of Fresca (don’t worry, I got mine), and I was legitimately worried about whatever kerfuffle was going on in the baby food aisle. I saw an old man flick an old lady off for taking the last handi-capable parking spot, and when someone wouldn’t let another person in to merge, once they got into traffic they literally passed them against oncoming traffic.
So lesson learned. I will eat peanut butter and sand until I run out of food before I go to Smith’s on a Monday afternoon ever again. To those of you who think you’re brave enough to face that big old bag of crazy, be ready for some Hunger Games bullsh%t. And not in a good way.
Until next time, stay classy (and may the odds be ever in your favor) Salt Lake.