Posts Tagged ‘shopping’

Other than watching the garbage truck flip the trash into its top in front of my house on Saturday mornings, going grocery shopping was the highlight of my life. When you’re young grocery shopping is amazing, mostly because it’s not your money. I used to find going grocery shopping therapeutic before I was the one paying for survival. Now whenever I go shopping I get pissed off knowing if I don’t do it I’ll die. I yearn for those older days when grocery shopping was a treat. Take a journey with me back to those days will ya?

The most unusual thing when I was a kid when it comes to grocery shopping is that my family didn’t stick with one specific store. There was Shop Rite, Acme, and Marazzo’s. All three were very different stores. All three had their charm. Shop Rite was gigantic and always had movies playing near the register. I remember my dad stopping for a smoke outside Shop Rite once and I went running into the street because I was so impatient. Somewhere out there this could have made a great anti-smoking campaign. Acme was the newer one to come around. What was great about Acme was it was opened 24 hours a day. When I was older I would never go shopping before midnight there. It was always 2 or 3 in the morning. I loved seeing creepy people buy middle of the night cheesecakes. Finally there was Marazzo’s which was more localized. It was owned by Sam Marazzo who once nearly screwed up my birthday because the cake my family ordered was not made. He did eventually come through and I’ve had fantastic birthdays ever since.

(I spent this last year alone watching the Snow White movie and eating fruit. You be the judge if I’m sarcastic saying it was fantastic)

It never mattered which store I was at, I always managed to cause mayhem. Going with the garbage truck theme, one game I would play with my sister was called garbage man. We would hang on the side of the shopping cart like a garbage man does to a garbage truck and jump off and grab food. Why was I obsessed with garbage when I was a little kid? Is this why I don’t own anything nice and everything I buy is used?

Another game I played had no name. It was simply grabbing large sticks of pepperoni from a barrel and sneaking it into the cart then hoping my dad didn’t see until we got to the check-out. A few times he didn’t and he’d laugh and buy the pepperoni. It was weird how obsessed with pepperoni I was when I was a kid. I remember eating it almost every day. I would also bite my coat collars a lot. When coat collar was bitten so often it actually smelt like pepperoni for years after. I wish this was not true.

(Who would ever need to buy this much pepperoni? This is why people are fat)

The only intrusive thing I ever did that would annoy me if I saw a kid doing today was running down the aisles and sliding on my knees. Remember though, this was back in the early 90s. People were still smoking in grocery stores so running and sliding without wheezing was seen as a miracle. Once I almost slid into the evil lunch aide from my elementary school, Mrs. Casa. She was a Spanish woman who for some reason spoke like an Austrian S.S. Officer. “Lunch is over. Please close your lunchboxes” was her catchphrase the children would all repeat. I think Mrs. Casa was smoking a cigar when I saw her in Shop Rite. I’m probably mistaken because my young racist mind always assumed she was related to Fidel Castro.

I think my sister was the one who ruined the grocery shopping fun. Once during a race at Acme I took a commanding lead. I turned the corner then looked back expecting to see her there. She wasn’t. I heard a crash then went to investigate. I looked down the aisle and saw her standing above a broken pickle jar. Glass was everywhere. Pickle spears fluttered on the ground or whatever it is pickle spears do. The manager came over and did managerial things and my sister has been so afraid of pickles ever since that she’s a lesbian now.

(Penis joke)

Now the most fun I ever have at the grocery store is finding something I like on sale. Why does it always come down to money to have a good time?

Share with me, do you have any fun stories about grocery shopping as a kid? Or did you have some other special place like the dump your parents would take you to for fun?

I like to look at myself in the mirror. Sometimes I take my shirt off and flex, snap a photo, and put it on Facebook for some girl with big purple lips to say how “sexxi” I am. If you spell sexy like that, you’re probably not. I’m joshing you of course. Never do I snap a photo of myself flexing in front of the mirror. Sure, sometimes I like to show off Princess and Her Majesty (my arms) to a willing crowd (myself). It doesn’t make me a bad person. A bad person would take pictures. That’s what separates us from the true d-bags in the world.

I’m not here to talk about people who show off their bodies. I would simply say that I’m jealous of them and that they’re insecure of their weak personalities and that’s why things are exactly the way they are. I would like to talk about those things they have at the stores known as self-checkout. They make teenagers obsolete. No longer will I be embarrassed to buy hemorrhoid cream and pudding in one trip. I won’t have some ghetto girl in plastic gloves copping an attitude with me because I smell funny. I love self-checkouts. What I don’t like are the other people who love them.

Never can I go to one of these awesome inventions and have things run smoothly. Like I mentioned, it’s the people who ruin it. I know, how’s that different from anything else? People ruin everything. Here’s a quick rundown of the people I seem to always encounter at the self-checkout.

Foreigners – Could it be that they choose to get their groceries through self-checkout because they’re so amazed by American technology? Probably not. I have a feeling it’s because they’re so stuck-up they’d rather not interact or have to speak English. This is America! We speak American here. Foreigners are wonderful until it involves money or kindness. I don’t blame them either. I’d be a dick if I was in Uruguay too. I’d be confused and not tip the waitresses then argue with them about prices. Here’s a tip, if you’re in a foreign country, don’t trust a foreign computer. At least a person can feel bad or add “o” to the end of every word and at least passably speak your language.

(As much as I love her, I would hate to be behind Malin Akerman when purchasing a tub of Greek Yogurt)

Moms – I only know these women are moms because of the vagina demons circling around her pulling candy bars off the shelf and having me fart in their faces. Seriously, I’ve never farted in a child’s face on purpose. One time I did when I didn’t see her behind me. She didn’t say anything. I think she was a mute. She also had both fingers up her nose so it was almost impossible to smell a thing. There are few places that I like to see children at. One of the last is in line in front of me. Do kids really ever die in cars from the heat? I remember being left in the car all the time when I was younger. I’d ask to be. I didn’t want to be a problem. I can’t really blame the mommies for being such a nuisance. They had to have sex with their husbands on his birthday 4 years ago which spawned this problem. Keep your kids at home. I need to buy my granola bars as fast as possible.

(So much goodness and only 90 calories! Get your dumb kids out of my way so I can eat the whole pack and justify it by saying it’s only 540 calories)

Old People – They’re not much different from children. I still like old people more than most other majority groups. One time at a grocery store recently I joked with an old woman about lines. I said “Wow this line is taking forever” and she said “That’s what you get one you hire a dark boy to do the job.” To be fair she was from a different generation. And he was pretty damn dark. The kind of dark where he’s never gotten fudge on his hands and thought “Well how do I solve this problem?” like I have so many times before. The downfall of all old people is their slowness. They have to get right up to the touch screens to advance forward. I have some sympathy for them because what they’re buying might be the last thing they ever buy. If they’re murdered by a family member who thinks of them as a burden, that receipt might be used as evidence.

(If Charles Degaulle was still alive he would be really old)

Couples – I hate seeing happy couples doing anything. That’s the only reason I’m ever nice to my girlfriend in public. I want to make other people feel my anguish. Better than the happy couples are the arguing ones. I argue with my girlfriend all the time at the self-checkout. She always lifts up the bag early. Then the robot chick voice says not to. She used to work at a grocery store and she should really know the rules. I need to hit her more. Jog her memory that there’s a system in place. I guess couples are usually pretty efficient when it comes to scanning their own groceries. They’re only ever annoying when they’re better looking than me and I have to go home to eat packaged sushi alone.

(This picture infuriates me. I really hope it was taken on Omaha Beach right before the allies landed)

Groups – All groups of people are horrific. I don’t care what color, religion, or dick size they are. You put people together and they have reasons to lie and impress. The worst group of all are people under a certain age. I can’t really put an exact number on it, but if you’re someone who divvies up a small bill or you all get in line and have to buy your packs of gum separately then you’re a problem. If I was ever a waiter and some group of community college kids tried handing me 8 different credit cards and some cash I would pull an antique movie poster off the wall and snap it over their faces. I know “money is tight” and “everyone has to pitch in” but you knew you were going to end up at Applebee’s. You always end up at Applebee’s. Can’t you get a better system going? Like finding a new group of friends that you actually have something in common with besides living on the same street as.

(Please be pledging a suicide pact)

Indecisive People – If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s murdering children. After that it’s people who can’t decide if they will murder children or not. Make a decision! Sometimes I’ll be standing in line at the self-checkout and a woman with a weird hat on will be unsure if one of the registers is open. Check stupid. I’m not going to cut in front of you. I’m enjoying the view of your ass. You can go look and see that it’s not working then come back and in a joking way say “Thought it was open!” then I can laugh because it would be awkward not to laugh. Sometimes I’ll reply with “I’ve done that before” hoping that you invite me back to share a nap with you. But that never happens. You should be mean to everyone you meet. What the hell do they do for you anyway?

(So many choices! I think I’ll get one of those famous $3 Pizza Hut candy bars that everyone always raves about)

I’ve made it all these posts without ever using the c-word. It ends today. If you dislike that word, avoid the last paragraph. You have been courteously warned.

I go through phases with the c-word. I’ll go months without saying or thinking it. Sometimes I forget it exists. Once it enters my mind again, every person or object that bothers me becomes one. It’s a beautiful word to say that makes everything feel better. I have yet to have the opportunity to call someone it to their faces in a non-Irish-Buddies kind of way. People in the UK toss that word around the same way American girls toss around “like.” It’s their verbal crutch. During nervous public speaking seminars instead of “umms” and “uhhs” it’s the c-word that fills those awkward pauses.

(What a diverse audience enjoying the C-Word)

Why now is it that I have chosen to address this issue? It’s because I now officially know the definition of the word. I remember in school that teachers would tell us not to use swear words because we didn’t know what they really meant. What third grader doesn’t know what those things mean? Ass is a synonym of butt, asshole is the hole in the ass where shit comes out of, shit is the stuff that comes out of the asshole which is located in the center of the butt, and fuck is what you might do to that asshole but only if there isn’t any shit there. A bastard is someone whose parents fornicated before getting married and a bitch is a girl who makes fun of someone for growing up as a bastard. And all bastards are bastards. If your parents were not married when they had you, you are a bastard who happens to act like a bastard. Does anyone get offended by the word bastard anymore? I hope not. If they do they’re a prick. And that’s another can of worms that I wish to not open.

The definition of a c-word some woman I met. I didn’t so much meet her as I muttered the c-word after she left. I mutter under my breath a lot. It keeps my face, my money-maker, in business. I’d surely be dead if I could not whisper or keep my thoughts to myself. I would have been strangled by the doctor as I was born. I thought he smelt weird. That was the first thing I ever muttered. A naked bloody baby thinking “Man, this Jew smells bad.” Do Jews deliver babies? I know they cure diseases, but I’m not that knowledgeable about birthing others. Don’t they have to have birth through a hole in a sheet? Or am I thinking of something else?

(That’s one gigantic finger or that’s going to be one tiny Jewish baby)

I was at Target grocery shopping. That’s not fair to say. I also had to pick up tooth paste, deodorant, and shaving cream. The last week or so I have been smelly and hairy. Scratch that. Smellier and hairier. This woman in particular seemed rather pushy. She had an “I own this place” aura about her. I tried to see how much blueberries were and she kept charging at me. So I backed up and didn’t get any delicious blue fruits. Then the race began toward checkout. It was a good while to there. I think they put the food so far away because some people go there only to buy food. They’re hoping you get distracted by something else like a crock pot or a Halloween card and buy that too. C-Word was distracted by something briefly then picked it back up again. Okay, I know there are no laws to this kind of stuff, but the way I see it is that if you pull back to look at something else, you’re conceiting victory. Apparently we have different laws of the department store.

I took a lead behind a weekend dad with his fat son. His son actually wasn’t fat. I just don’t know too many adjectives to describe children. His small son? His useless son? The convoy got to the checkout line and there seemed to be a problem. A foreign old woman was complaining about something. Probably had something to do with how they do things in Poland. C-Word snuck around everyone and swooped in front of me and another woman with her kid into another line. This was her dick move. Before you think “Hey, she was just looking out for herself. It’s a dog eat dog world. If you don’t watch out for yourself then who will?” learn this. C-Word had a lot of groceries. I mean an unhealthy amount. Such a douchey amount of food that if she isn’t sending it over to Africa then she is a bitch. Shopping carts are made to be a certain size for a specific reason. To stop people from being wasteful and having unnecessarily large families.

(Hey look, it’s those condom-less creeps again)

I’m the kind of guy who when I see someone with a lot less things in their cart will let them go in front of me. Yes. I’m that desperate and lonely for friendship. That’s not the only reason why I do it. On the chance that the old woman’s hot granddaughter runs up and says “Hey Gram-Gram! Can I buy this thong? I think it would look great on me! If only there was a male’s perspective I could get.” I also do it because it’s a nice thing to do. I would expect a Catholic Family with $500 worth of groceries would allow me to pass in front of them too. Not this whore. She couldn’t let anyone get out of there before her.

Taking a moment to describe her a little bit more, I would say that she looked exactly like you would think someone in New Jersey would look. She had a fake tight face, jewelry that belongs in an Aladdin film, and a haircut that belongs on the monkey in an Aladdin film. She looked like every cast member of all of those “Jersey” television shows. For those of you who haven’t been to New Jersey, not everyone here looks like that. Most people look normal. Most of us aren’t even Italians. Would you believe I have never gone tanning? I hate the beach, I don’t dance, and I haven’t bought hair gel in 8 years. Even then it was once and was colorful. I was a teenager. Teenagers love looking like Lucky Charms.

(I want to dip her in milk. So magically delicious even though I know she’d look awful in person)

The time has come for me to say it. Stop reading now and we can end on a good note if you are sensitive to certain words rhyming with hunt.

I might be overreacting with all of this, but that woman was a cunt. I mean, an hour has passed since this happened and I’m not nearly as annoyed now, but still, what a cunt move. (Actually now it’s been almost 2 weeks, but who’s counting?) To cut off people with all of your groceries? What kind of fucking rush are you in? Your children clearly shouldn’t be starving. You spend more money on Botox than you do on Christmas gifts. You puppet faced mule. What happened to aging gracefully? Your face even looks like a cunt. I swear someday I’m going to pull down a girl’s pants and see your face covered in pubic hair between her legs. You’re a terrible human being. Not you reading this. That cunt is. She probably won’t read this, ever. She’s too busy shoving down orphans and living by her own agenda. She has never once in her life looked at the big picture. The earth revolves around her. In her life, the sun is a giant yellow cunt who shops at Target. Ms. Cunt, and I call you Miss because no one could ever possibly marry you and stay with such a cunt, I hope you have one redeeming quality about you, but even the attitude you gave the cashier let me know that you don’t. You were born a cunt. You have lived as a cunt. You will die a cunt’s death.

I have never worked in a grocery store. In fact, I have only ever had one taxable job. I’ve had friends who have worked in grocery stores and from what I’m told, I’m lucky to never have to put up with what they do. It’s rough and that’s why I’m always polite to the workers there. They don’t want to be there and I want to be back at home hiding under a blanket from the government. We have a silent pact.

That’s why it bothers me so much when people do not return their shopping carts to the proper shopping cart return receptacles. It goes back to that age-old Bible quote “If everybody throws a booger on the ground, then the ground will be covered with thy boogers.” If everybody doesn’t return their shopping cart to the proper location, then we got a parking lot full of carts and nowhere to park.

I always make sure to return my shopping cart. Maybe once or twice I didn’t when it was really inconvenient. Like I had to poop badly and taking one more step at that moment would cause me to stain my pants. Sorry for the vulgarity. I don’t mean to give you horrible images in your head. I’m trying to prove a point. There are very few instances when you shouldn’t return your shopping cart. Having to take a massive nutty shit is one of them.

(Imagine a 5’10 monocle wearing, cane swinging, tap dancing fruitcake like this coming out of your ass. That’s the only time you don’t have to return a shopping cart)

It seems too often that I’m trying to find a parking spot. I’m not picky, I don’t mind walking. There are times when I think I’ll be lucky and get a close spot. Then I’m surprised to see the spot is occupied by 1, 2, up to 5 carts at a time. An entire orgy of carts! Why should I be surprised? The same species that invented genocide, nuclear weapons, and the Snuggy are responsible for this. I shouldn’t expect anything less from us. It’s such a lazy act to not move your shopping cart another few feet. You inconvenience me, the cart boy, and those two people are important enough to warrant this being a bad thing to do. I don’t need to be inconvenienced because you spent an hour walking around the store pushing a cart and now that you’re done with it you happen to be too tired to put it where it belongs. That’s not right. Do I leave your daughters on the side of the road when I’m done with them. Maybe once, but she was kinda weird-looking. You let her go out with me in the first place. I didn’t think you’d care too much where I left her.

Like a driver’s license, using a shopping cart should be a privilege, not a right. There needs to be some sort of exam for people in order to use this. Something! Give the cart boy a dollar for collateral and as soon as you return the cart you get your buck back. That’s a little extreme, but people are so lazy that it might work.

The problem is, when shoppers at the grocery stores are lazy, the cart boys will in return be lazy to make your life a little bit worse. Oh and when I say cart boys, do not get offended that I say boys and not people. Most people who get the carts, male and female, are very masculine. You’re a boy. I’ve never seen a cart boy with a nice ass. Until I do, they’re cart boys, not cart people. Anyway, if you’re lazy then the cart boys will be lazy too. They’ll be so exhausted from having to do the extra work, that when they file their taxes they will do it incorrectly and then you’ll have extra work to do to resolve the problem. It’s something called Cause & Effect. Like if a butterfly flaps its wings in China, a man’s wig blows off in Kansas City, or something like that.

(The Butterfly Effect, Ashton Kutcher makes one good movie and we give him 12 more shots at it. He fails)

I have very little tolerance for laziness. Especially laziness that I always have the common courtesy to actually do. I know a lot of the carts are probably the elderly who are in too much pain to walk a little further so okay, you get a pass. Your carts are in the 50,000 handicap parking spots anyway. It doesn’t effect me. It only affects the pregnant woman trying to buy some baby formula. That’ll show that whore for getting knocked up.

My latest trip to WalMart had an occurrence where a man was very lazy with his shopping cart. It was WalMart so I guess he was the most normal person there besides me. He was in front of me as I was leaving and in the doorway he pulled his bag out of his shopping cart and left the cart in the doorway. Just sitting there in the way of everybody to walk by next. I know that he was thinking that he was doing a good thing, leaving the cart in the store, but it was in MY way. It was a little out of HIS way to return it to the correct place inside the store so he decided on an unhappy medium, leaving it in the middle of the exit. I don’t understand people whose minds work like this. They must be missing that consideration gene. We should all leave shopping carts in the middle of pathways once we’re done with them. It’ll make it more exciting getting back to our cars.

I feel like an old man complaining about shopping carts. I’ve been a regular LAUREN RANT N RAVE!!! Really, shopping carts are a metaphor for anything. The same people who don’t return their shopping carts are the same people who don’t tip at restaurants. They’re the same people who don’t use turn signals. The same lousy human beings who cut in line. I hate these people. The only ease for my mind, some day they’ll be dead.