STOP! In the (aisle) of Dove

Before you break my heart and cause me to drop the fuck down.

Question: How many shopping carts can fit in the aisle of a grocery store?

The answer is simple; probably one, maybe two but your Milk and my Eggs might get a little frisky with each other. Actually the answer should be ZERO. It doesn’t make sense to make a 2 way street out of a narrow grocery aisle.

I obviously went grocery shopping yesterday. I’m one of those people who use the small hand held baskets rather than big carts. I don’t know why because by the time I’m at check out, I have things in my pocket, tucked under my arm, between my knees and in my mouth. I know what you’re thinking but hear me out … people will feel sorry for you (so will the cashiers). They might let you cut in front of them so you can put your mess down on the conveyer and spare them the miserable scenery (and potential ‘extra mess’ if you ever drop that 2 liter).

My frustration stems from the fact that despite me carrying my basket, I still get ‘stuck’ in an aisle because there are two shopping carts and their ‘drivers’ are too occupied picking their groceries from opposing shelves. Not only that, but when their groceries (ALWAYS) happen to be on the bottom shelf, I also get a front row seat to ASS CRACK MANIA! Yesterday was particularly enjoyable. I was definitely re-assured that summertime has indeed arrived … with outfits that enhance ASS CRACK MANIA! (With all due respect, I am not talking about ambitious, energetic and exotic bachelorettes with short hair … we are talking been around for a while, hot flashes in the middle of the store type deals here). But it’s okay, it’s good practice for poker, how to be patient and all.

I will say though that the most awkward interaction is when they finally get up, and I have to cordially give THAT smile. That “Hi, you’ve-made-me stand-here-for-5-minutes-and-I-didn’t-particularly-appreciate-that … and oh by the way, I-couldn’t-help-but-stare-at-your-GRAND-canyon” smile. They completely get it too, word for word.

There’s always about 12 cash registers or more at every grocery store, but only 2 are actually OPEN. One time I was carrying stuff as I described above and one cashier lady was very sweet and she let me use her very empty 15-item limit line (I had about 40 items). Her name was Denise. At this point, we’re on a first name “wattup” basis. Denise was mad cool. She’s the type of lady who will get all up in your business (in a friendly way). She always looks at what I bought and proceeded to discuss and comment on each and every single one of them. Some of my favorites:

“Oh Child, go and put that fat free shit back … it don’t taste as good.”
“Shrimp will get you ass … always” (That was a lie … not “ALWAYS”)
“ What in the hell is wrong with this? Why is it so cheap?”
“I hope you REALLY like it, I wouldn’t pay that much for this.”
“You smell good baby, You smell good … go ahead.” (While ringing up deodorant or body spray … but … I haven’t put that on yet … so…)

Well at least she’s honest. Over the months she’s become my go-to cashier. She’s fast and whimsical and a very nice person.

And then there’s George. George is weird. He’s one of those cashiers who don’t say anything. Not even “Do you have a super card?” He will just kind of freeze until you get a hint. George man, what’s the deal here? George is not speech-disabled; I have actually heard him talk before. He probably just doesn’t like me, or like ringing up my type of groceries.

And last but not least is Cruella DeManager. I understand she’s probably stressed out to the max … but for fuck’s sake would you stop cursing at your employees and hot-talkin’ them? I NEVER understood the following phenomenon (probably because I’ve never worked at a grocery store) but it seems that cashiers need the manager’s “KEY” for something… EVERYTIME. I can never figure out why exactly, the world just FREEZES and the intercom starts yelling “Manager’s key to Register 3, Manager’s key to Register 3.” So yeah, Cruella hates being called to the register. She always comes out PISSED and LIVID, fumbling her keys and mumbling to herself. Another thing I never understood is: why am I getting her dirty look (of death) from hell?

It must be something I bought.

Note: If and when I ever buy anything “personal” or embarrassing (like that one time, thanks to A.M.G.) … I always go to George and NOT Denise. The last thing I need is for her to announce: “Boy Buying [something boys shouldn't buy]” to the world.