trials in public places

Some days it doesn't pay to get up from a nap.

It's 4:30 p.m. on Friday, and I have to go to the grocery. I'm phobic about grocery stores because I'm overwhelmed by the choices. Who on God's earth needs 15 varieties of salsa when entire nations are starving? This causes me to have an existential crisis behind the canned peas, and it all goes downhill from there. This is why I don't cook. If I can't get it at a convenience store, then I don't need it.

Sitting in the parking lot psyching myself up to go in, I get a call telling me I didn't get a gig I was looking forward to. Especially stinging was the fact I was going to do it for free. After I'm all gracious and understanding, The caller tells me he had to make the call because he wasn't at the meeting. I told him it was a good rejection call, and I knew from experience how hard they are to make so he could go deal with his toddler who had ripped open a box of Fruit Loops while Dad is making a hard call. His weekend will be better because I've had 20 years in the workplace and was kind.

I make my usual wild dash with my list which never varies--ever. I look neither up nor side to side. If I could find a decent pair of blinders many of my problems would be solved because I wouldn't see the 15 brands of salsa.

Do pretty good. Don't have to breathe into my small paper bag which I take along in case I hyperventilate, which I have done in there before.

I have too many items to go through the self-checkout line even if I fudge on the maximum limit. This means I must go through a regular checkout line. I won't go into the reasons why that will unsettle me for days. This lane actually had a bagger which is not good either. Context: I live in second-story walk-up. I know exactly how much weight I can carry up with one hand. I can deal with multiple trips to the car and up the stairs, but I must be able to carry the freakin' bag with one hand.

I ask the cashier to tell the bagger not to put all the liquids in one bag. She tells him. Twice. When I begin unloading my basket into the car I get to a bag I cannot lift. I look in. All liquids. I look in another bag. The same thing. Sometimes one is pushed over a line, and life altering decisions are made.

I return to the store with my basket and 40 pounds of liquids. I find the bagger, and for the fist time in my life I played the Age Card.

"Son, do you have a grandmother?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"I am a grandmother. I live in a second story apartment with no elevator. That means I carry up my own groceries."
"Yes Ma'am."
"Look in these bags, and tell me what you see."
"A lot of bottles?"
"Your checker told you twice not to put all the liquids in one bag."
"Oh."
"Son, do you know what liquids are?"
"Yes Ma'am, stuff that's in those bottles. (This was not a kid with any of the widely recognized challenges.) Oh yeah, you wanted them in different bags."
"Right. We will keep this between us, and I will not speak to your supervisor. But the next time you see a person who resembles a person like me or a woman with a baby strapped on struggling with a screaming toddler who just pulled all the magazines of the rack, don't put all her bottles in one bag. OK?" It was a bittersweet moment. Played the Age Card but also saved some young mother from going berserk somewhere, sometime soon.

I stop at the Red Box knowing I'll need distraction tonight. There is a teenage couple going through every movie and discussing the merits of each. I'm dead on my feet. I can stand there all night. The girl steps aside and tells me to go select my movie because they can't make up their minds. No shit.

I select my movie and the boyfriend says to me, "Ma'am do you know that's a really violent movie?"
"Yes, son I do. I've already seen it three times but thanks for the heads-up." Violent diversion in hand, I trudge back to my car to re-bag the groceries.