Every so often, life hands you a moment where you see yourself from the outside and realize, “Holy cow, is that lame or what?”
And then, of course, you blog about it.
Last week, I should just have gotten out the ankle to hip cast and begun limping around, that’s how lame I was. Because my revelation…? Centered around the grocery store.
I know “you are what you eat.” I didn’t realize “you are where you shop.”
Angelborough has its own grocery store with a cute name. We’ll call it Costlies. At Costlies, you can pick up a gallon of milk for four bucks, a loaf of bread for three, and if you want the meat, they’ll open a credit card account for you. So I don’t shop at Costlies.
Instead, when I asked around, everyone told me that they shop at Market Basket.
Market Basket is (wait for it) ten miles away, in another city. So now I have to drive twenty minutes each way to shop at a store I despise. I despised the Market Baskets in Angeltown, and now I hate the Market Basket here too.
Why? Well, for starters, Angeltown had three Market Baskets, and at all of them, the produce was awful. The employees were surly. And if you ever met anyone from Angeltown, all you had to do was say, “The Market Basket Of The Damned” and they’d groan, “Oh, exit seven…I’ll never shop there again.”
Exit Seven housed a Market Basket which almost never had other customers. You could come in, wander the silent aisles with your squeaky half-size cart, blow the dust off the cereals to find one that hadn’t expired yet, and then push your cart to the front where a woman checked you out wearing big hair that would have looked big even in 1987, and fingernails that would make Godzilla say, “Ooh!”
Angelborough’s Market Basket is slightly different. It’s crowded. If I went there at three in the morning, I’m sure it’s crowded then too. The parking lot is designed to cause permanent gridlock (Satan moonlighted designing it after he left Angelborough’s town planning commission) and the cart corrals are located in one cluster at one end of the parking lot; if you parked elsewhere, tough noogies.
Plus, you have to buy the Market Basket brand of generics. Which is….eh.
So to recap: I now have to drive twenty minutes to shop in a place I hate with 5982740972 other people in order to purchase food I dislike.
Every week, I’d go there with clenched teeth, missing my old Angeltown grocery store and wishing they had a franchise here.
Last week, I discovered, they did.
And I went shopping. I didn’t have to, but I went shopping anyhow.
My house is full of familiar food. I could have sung praises in the aisles. I danced for joy in front of my fridge.
I’m lame. I know I’m lame. But boy, am I happy.