My Sick Mind

Ascend with us now, to the neighborhood supermarket, where our hero (me, in a relative sense) ventures into the great void of his neighborhood supermarket in search of sustenance and a little blog material. It usually works for both. Tonight's episode is entitled: "Express -- or Not." With a scant few items in his hand-held cart, our hero wanders into the so-called "Express Lane" at the supermarket, proceeds to lay his (less than 15) items on the conveyor, only to be delayed by another shopper. His arch rival, Coupon Bitch has an issue with some chicken stock she purchased almost a week ago. A discussion with the cashier (who we will call Express Queen) hears her contention of how the chicken stock she purchased last week should have come with a cents-off coupon, but she was instead charged the regular price. The cashier sent her to the nearby Courtesy Desk, where Express Queen's super-friends (now known as the Coupon League) have come to the aid of Coupo...

As regular (or irregular) readers know, I enjoy my trips to the grocery store. It's nearby, and provides a nice walk and time to contemplate life and ... groceries. I'd hate to go so far as to say that the grocery store is my muse, but judging by some of the content, I'd say the end justifies the means. Anyway, one thing I noticed was that the cashiers do significantly less work than they used to. When I was a kid, they had to actually read the price tag on an item and punch the numbers into a cash register. As shoppers, we had to separate the taxable items from the non-taxable items, and the cashiers had to know which was which. Generally, there was a kid at the end of the line who put the items in a paper bag and another one who would walk out and help you put your groceries in your car. Now, all the cashiers do is drag the item over a scanner and drop it on that secondary conveyor belt, which transports it to a place that is out of my reach. The reason I have to reach...

The biggest scam in the history of retail has to be laundry detergent. [I know what you're thinking: "My God, he's been through every conceivable subject, and now he's onto laundry detergent - hand me the remote."] Is there an Internet remote? Seriously (yes) I'm in the grocery store tonight, perusing my choices of detergent which, by the way, mostly have only one syllable [explain] when I notice that there is a wide swing of price from one product to another. I could have purchased the $7.49 container that promised to get my clothes clean, but instead purchased the $2.49 container which promised the identical thing. Is there enough of a difference from one product to another to justify a 332% difference in price? Methinks there is not, hence the scam. Clean clothes are a priority in my life, but if I wanted to spend eight bucks, I'd just as soon take them to the dry cleaners and save the water. Maybe that's the trick? After all, I'm not deali...

I love the supermarket. Really. So many things and so many people. Our supermarket sells LCD televisions. Really. I'd love to be there when someone buys one. It must be like seeing a total solar eclipse. I bet the manager comes running out peeing himself, screaming "We sold a TV!" That would be like Best Buy selling cereal. What I get mostly are the ass-end of banal conversations while waiting on line. Tonight was a highlight. The guy in front of me with four totally unrelated items was curiously looking around the crowded store while fumbling for his debit card. HIM: [to the cashier] Why are you so busy tonight? CASHIER: Um ... it's Thanksgiving. HIM: Oh. [obviously he was recently dropped to Earth and just now needed groceries] CASHIER: Gobble gobble! The customer walked away, seemingly enlightened as to the ritual purchasing of food in advance of a holiday. These instances invariably make me shake my head and mutter, "men." ME: [to cashier] Even I kne...

As long as I am forced to spend time in a grocery store I know I will never suffer from writer's block. [put on some writing music ] I'm a spoiled guy. The supermarket is right next door (practically) and I spend a lot of time wandering back and forth for a couple of things. I probably use the Express lane more than anyone. [everybody has a skill] Today, in a fit of spontaneous decision-making, I figured I'd do a proper shopping trip. The old snowbound stock-up on all manner of food, so that whatever peculiar craving might strike me for lunch on Thursday - there it will be in the pantry or freezer. The ancillary benefit of the short trip is that it minimizes my time in the actual structure, so as to be of particular benefit to my overall psychiatric well-being. [So, I have that going for me] I feel funny buying the "Family Size" of anything, since I don't have a family. I feel like it's a shopping violation. Like I'd be falsifying records or something....

Oh God , another trip to the grocery store. Whenever I dry up for blog posts, I head on over to the local supermarket and stock up on fresh meat. I'm not really sure why I was there. It's so cool to have a supermarket a thousand feet from my house, so sometimes I go just because of because. I love the Cheerios , so I'll grab a box. There's like a hundred Cheerios products - wheat, fruit, stonewashed - they call them the " Cheerios Family ", as though they had parents or something. So, which kid am I bringing home to pour Soy milk on and eat? It was MultiGrain. You probably could have guessed that one. You are what you eat. And that meant I needed pork chops. But not the regular pork chops that I'd have to [egad] cook. These are already cooked (sorta like pre-chewed, but not as sickening) and packaged in an air-tight tomb that would be safe to eat until Al Gore becomes president. Between those and the Purdue pre-shaped breaded and flavored (real) chicken, i...

"If the world is so big how's come I run into people I can't stand all the time? It's just not big enough some days ..." - Kimmyk , on the shrinkage Most days the world seems small, but it's a fair question, and at least one place I visited today served to remind me that the world is sometimes as small as the people in it. My first visit was to the local Chinese buffet restaurant. As I sat there, sucking down my General Tso's chicken , it occurred to me that the only Chinese people I see in Chinese restaurants are the people who work there. It's either because (a) Chinese people come to America partly to escape Chinese food. After all, I wouldn't eat at McDonald's in Beijing. Or, (b) Chinese food in America is like McDonald's to Chinese. I wonder, if I was ever lucky enough [that's right] to visit China, what would the food be like? Would I recognize Chinese food in China? I need to ask one of the people working at the buffet about tha...

My weekly supermarket trip is generally odd enough to support a blog of its own, but God (and Bill O'Reilly) knows I don't need something else to do. Last night, I'm standing in line with my usual assortment of odd items, when I see the woman in front of me hesitate for a moment. The cashier had told her that her order came to $124.25, and this caused the woman to ponder, "I want to make this check out so that I get cash back. What's the limit?" That's right - the check . Of course, the cashier didn't know, because ... c'mon, who writes checks to begin with? She turned to a co-worker and asked. The response came back that the limit was $30. The woman was relieved, for some unknown reason. She said she needed more than $25. She looked at the total again, and then started to make out the check. "Is it OK if I make this out for $150 even ? I need a little extra." Which, actually is a question and a statament, but I digress. She proce...