Ahhh, the weekly jaunt to the grocery store.  I know it’s a necessity, but the recent busy holidays have only amplified my issues and problems with our local food warehouses.  I like to think that I’m a relatively calm person, but some of these things make my blood boil – and I’ve seen some of you in the aisles as well.  You’re one step away from a court date and anger management classes.  I get it.

To protect the innocent, I won’t mention my store’s name (although to give you a hint, it starts with “M” and rhymes with “Fartins”), but I’m sure the things I’m about to describe take place everywhere, so there are no innocents here.  Listed below are my observations.

Narrow Aisles

There must have been a sadistic corporate efficiency expert that came in at some point and said “there’s no reason to have enough room so that two carts moving in opposite directions can pass comfortably in a grocery aisle” (yes, Martins on Wesel Boulevard, I’m talking to you).  My guess is it’s the same moron that said “oh, and while you’re at it, jam some more portable displays in the aisles to utilize all of that empty floor space”.  I don’t know about you, but I sometimes have to be able to read a label or see a logo in order to make my selections – I don’t buy things because of their color or shape (“get the mayo with the blue lid!”).  That means I’m generally pushing my cart down the center of the aisle so I can look at both sides and see all of the products you’ve conveniently stacked six or seven shelves high.  So now I’m halfway down the locks of the Panama Canal and here comes Old Lady Amhurst in the opposite direction.  Wonderful.  Now I have to try and get over far enough so that I don’t smack her cart, which she has made even wider by cleverly attaching several eight-packs of soda to its side.  We both breathe a sigh of relief as we barely slip by each other, and I look up just in time to see two more barges bearing down on me.  This gets repeated on every aisle.  I generally just give up and park my cart at some out of the way spot and walk around to get what I need and to assist with my own sanity.

Who’s Buying All of This Stuff?

I stroll through the produce section and see some weird inventory decisions.  There’s a pile of mangoes that would cover my living room couch.  A sizeable stack of coconuts.  A bin of star fruit.  A heaping mound of tomatillos.  It’s like a farmer’s market from Ecuador.  There are things I don’t even know what to do with or how you even eat in there, and I’ve been around.  Are locals really buying these items – and in such sizeable quantities?  Seriously, how many people are upset because you’re out of jicama?  I’m picturing the local landfill with lots of rotting exotic fruits and vegetables.  Also, the sheer variety and amounts of various nuts and other sundries always fascinates me.  For goodness sake, there are enough bagged peanuts on hand to supply a college football bowl game.  There are stacks of flavored tortillas, bags upon bags of multiple flavors of croutons, and a plethora (yes, I said ‘plethora’ – that means “a bunch”, Billy Bob) of dried fruit in plastic containers.  I just don’t get it.

So Many Check-Out Aisles, So Few Open

Why are there 15 check-out lines at the store when you know in your heart of hearts that they’ve NEVER all been open at the same time?  Outside of the “express” lane, what’s the most you’ve ever seen?  Five?  Six?  They’ll be six carts deep on the open lanes and I can see a check-out manager, just lazily staring at the train wreck from the customer service desk.  Hey Margie, you wanna hustle on over here and pitch in?  I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d sure appreciate it.

If You Don’t Understand “Self-Check-Out” – Get Out of the Line

First, let me say that I’m not a fan of the “self-check-out” lanes (which also seem to always have a line), but I will use them in a pinch.  Honestly, if I wanted to do all of the work at the grocery store myself, I would have filled out an application.  That being said, if you’re going to use the self-check-out, at least understand how it works.  Yes, Mrs. Tompkins – you will have to look up your grapes under the produce selections and weigh them, not shrug your shoulders and keep shouting “grapes!” at the scales.  This isn’t ‘Star Trek’.  For goodness sake, they have pictures on the screen – just match it up.  If you need a hint, look down – you’ve got an example right in front of you.  Some people treat each item like they are handling nitroglycerin, gingerly swiping them over the scanner like they are moving a newborn baby on a changing table.  It’s like they are pricing Ming vases for Christie’s auction house.  It’s ‘Hamburger Helper’, sir – you’re not gonna break it.  Scan it and bag it.  Chop-chop.  People have lives to lead behind you.  I’ve got three items and you’ve got enough in your cart to support the ‘D-Day’ invasion.

Where Are All the Baggers?

Call me old-fashioned, but there was a time when I didn’t have an unpaid part-time job of bagging my own groceries.  They had these positions at the store called “baggers”, and they were cleverly stationed at the end of the cashier’s lane.  What they did was actually put your groceries in a bag as the cashier rung up the items.  That way, by the time you paid, all of your groceries were all ready to go in your cart.  I describe this process because these days, I’d have a better chance of spotting a bear on a unicycle at the courtesy counter than actually getting a bagger on my check-out line.  Also, call me sexist, but as a male, every time there IS a bagger on my line (which, by the way, I have selected due to this fact), they ALWAYS – without fail – decide to go on break, go the bathroom, or make a life altering decision and quit on the spot as soon as it’s my turn to be serviced.  Every.  Single. Time.  I actually talk to myself in line about it now like a deranged mental patient.  “Look there, he’s spotted me next.  He’s gonna bolt.  I can feel it.  Annnnnd, there he goes – outstanding!”  I’m so used to it now that when I do happen to be blessed with a bagger who doesn’t leave me, I heap more praise and thanksgiving on them than when Henry Stanley found Dr. Livingstone in the jungles of Africa at Lake Tanganyika.

What are your grocery pet peeves?  Leave me your thoughts in the comment section!