Oh ... Really?

That's not all I have to say! »

The weekday crowd is composed mostly of young mothers and the elderly. The moms usually have a kid or two, one in the cart and one running around like a banshee. If the kid isn't running around, it's because mom is screeching at him/her every 30 seconds to come back here stop that put that down don't touch get off that come here no you can't have it come ON!

The store has decided to provide moms and dads with these grotesque shopping carts made for toting the kiddies ... they look like they were made by Little Tykes, they are huge, plastic and are meant to look like race cars ... I guess. They are about 30% wider than a regular shopping cart. Parents typically will not cozy up to side of the aisle because that would make it possible for little Billy or Suzy to grab stuff off the shelves. So they stop right in the middle of the aisle. Even without a cart, one can barely squeeze by. If one dares to move the cart just a teensy bit to be able to get by, one is met with a glare from mom that would whither the bravest of souls. I would very dearly like to find the person who thought up the marvelous idea of these behemoth carts and crush their head like a grape.

Now, the little old men and the little old ladies that share the aisles with the young mothers and their broods don't seem to mind waiting to move along. They move slower than snails anyway. Not so much that they aren't able to walk quickly, but they tend to study nearly every aspect of every item they are contemplating buying. They read the ingredient list, the nutrition label, compare the per-unit price with every other brand and all sizes available. If it is a couple, they have these deep discussions on the merits of buying the larger size versus the availability of storage in their cupboards, and whether it is more important to get the low-sodium version or the low-fat, and why can't they make a version that is low-sodium AND low-fat. They too, for some reason, park their carts right in the middle of the aisle. But if you move their cart, they apologize like they just killed your best friend.

"Ohhhh! I am SO sorry! Oh dear, oh my. Henry, get the cart! Move it over! Oh my goodness, honey ... I apologize! It is just SO rude of me to be in the way like that! Oh dear!" and she flutters her hands in the air as if waving off her bad manners.

I have an instant guilt attack. "Oh no! It's OK! Really! I can squeeze by ... I didn't mean to bother you. It's OK ... really!" I just want to get my lunch, dear. Don't have a heart attack ... please?

I finally got the stuff for my lunch ... shrimp fajitas. Yum! And grab the other things I needed, then I ran the gauntlet back to the front of the store. At least the check-yourself lanes are clear. Moms and the older folks apparently prefer to have their stuff checked and bagged by the clerks.

I was exhausted by the time I got out of there. If there is a next time that I visit the grocery store on a weekday morning, I will have to remind myself that it will take longer, and I won't be able to do my racer walk up and down the aisles. It's just a whole different crowd.
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