It Feels Good To Be This Shallow

I wasn’t planning to post anything more before we left town for the Thanksgiving holiday, but I can’t resist describing my afternoon grocery shopping trip.

Ginger and I maneuvered our cart to the canned fruit section because there was a sale on mandarin oranges – $1 per can.  This is a good price in my corner of the world and given that fresh fruit that was not trucked in from 2500 miles away and/or not blasted with pesticides and/or that doesn’t taste like mildly-flavored water is pretty much out of the question right now, I tend to fall back on the canned variety to get the kids through the winter time.

So there we were, standing in front of the oranges, and I’m studying them because they are on the top shelf and someone has stacked them three high, meaning I don’t come close to reaching the top cans.  Worse, the cans sitting near the edge of the shelf have been sold, so I have to go up on my tip-toes and hold onto the shelf to have a prayer at getting the cans that are still there. 

I manage to pull down a few cans and put them in my cart.  Then I turn back to figure out how to reach more of the cans.  At this point, a woman with a young child steps in front of me and starts pulling cans down.

I’m not sure there exists a term precise enough to describe how I felt, but “gobsmacked” comes pretty close.  Was it not COMPLETELY OBVIOUS that I was in the process of pulling the oranges off the shelves?  This was a serious breach of grocery store etiquette.  Where are the canned fruit police when you need them?!?

Now to be fair, I’m not entirely certain this woman knew what I was doing.  Although I was standing directly in front of these items and had removed a few cans from the shelf, it’s entirely possible she thought I was simply admiring the remaining cans, hoping they were going to find good homes.  I suppose. 

But I doubt it.

So when she pulled down a few cans, struggling as I had given that she was about my height, and stepped away to put them in her cart, I did what any petty, passive-aggressive individual would do:  I stretched as high as I could and snagged every last can that someone of our height could possibly reach.  Better yet, I took my time.  And I could feel her standing there watching me.

After I cleared the reachable portion of the shelf – buying far more cans than I actually wanted – I turned to Ginger, said, “Come on, Sweetie!” in a chipper voice, and walked away.

I hope she was gobsmacked.

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2 responses to this post.

  1. You’re my hero.

    I think I need one of those blushing smiley faces!

    Thanks for stopping by!

    -GrumpyMomma

    Reply

  2. Posted by Mary on February 13, 2010 at 6:08 pm

    I love this post. I can’t believe I’ve never clicked on your blog before because it is hysterical.

    Thank you so much! I’m glad you stopped by!
    – GrumpyMomma

    Reply

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