THING THAT DETAILS A TRIP TO THE SUPERMARKET
Sam Pink
Yesterday I went to the supermarket to buy groceries. Buying groceries causes me much dread because it is always the same. I buy the same things, I walk in the same direction, I eat the same foods and leave the packages in the same places, and I show my genitals to the same employees.
I borrowed my friend's car and drove to the supermarket. I grabbed a cart and went to the produce aisle. I eat a lot of fruit so that's usually where I start. Plus listening to the sprayers calms me down enough so I don't have a stroke and die on the floor in front of a little kid playing a Gameboy while his mom scratches things off a list.
One of the things I hate about the supermarket is the feeling that everyone is looking at me. It makes me feel like someone who's severely handicapped and who you put up with because you are afraid he'll lose his temper and hurt you badly.
I went to the cantaloupe section and looked at the cantaloupes. I surveyed the cantaloupes and picked one up. I smelled it and decided it was the one for me.
"You are mine," I said to the cantaloupe. "Don't fight it. It will be easier if you just come along with me. I will provide a home for you and you will grow to love me. You will call me father. Just relax and be cool and you won't get hurt."
I put the cantaloupe in the cart and went to the avocado section. I had never bought an avocado before but for some reason they looked appealing. A middle aged woman pulled her cart up to the avocados too and we stood there looking at them. I touched one and it was soft.
The woman said, "Are they any good today?"
I said, "I don't know I've nev—"
"Usually they're soft," she said, pressing her finger into one.
"Like my spirit," I said.
She grabbed one and walked away and so did I.
I came upon the dried fruit section and saw a bag of fruit that said, "Island Mix."
"Come sail away," I said and put the bag in my cart. I pushed the cart to the next aisle and almost ran into two girls who were shopping together. I felt awkward about walking passed them so I stood behind them and acted like I was checking out products.
I noticed the brand name oatmeal costs twice as much as the generic kind. I turned to the old lady behind me and said, "Man, check out those motherfucking savings. Those are the motherfuckinest savings I have ever seen."
The two girls in front of me walked on, and I kept inching up behind them. We'd unfortunately chosen similar paths at similar times. It became very entertaining. Kind of like, "Who's gonna break first?" It felt like I should have said, "What are you ladies doing tonight? Want to see the inside of my van?"
But then it became very discomforting. I figured I had two options. Rather than kill them, I went to the next aisle over and then went backwards after that to disrupt what would be a crippling repetition of encounters. I am brilliant.
I checked out the bread section. I grabbed a loaf and then noticed the bag was ripped. I put it back quickly and looked around to make sure no one saw me and blamed me. There was an old man behind me. His shirt said "World's Greatest Grandfather and Handjob-Giver."
Play it cool, I thought. He didn't see shit. Everything is fine. If he starts talking, just push him over and bang his head against the tile until he is silent. No one's going to fucking catch me. Not ever.
The old man came up to me and said, "Excuse me young man, where's the celery at around here?"
I pulled a butterfly knife out of my pants and shoved it into his eye and screamed at his dying body. No, I didn't do that. I just lied to you. I am sorry. I pointed toward the produce section and said, "The celery is thatta way."
He said something like, "Well alright goddamn it, finally some answers."
In the same aisle as the bread was the peanut butter. This will keep me from dying, I thought and put the jar into my cart.
I went to the frozen foods aisle and looked at the frozen vegetables. I wanted some peas. I found the peas. There were many different bags. One of the bags said, "Fancy Sweet Peas."
No, I thought. Then I contrived a glum look at the floor while toeing the tile shyly. Those aren't for me. I am not worth it. Maybe one day, but not today. Not fancy peas. Only regular peas. I will stay humble. Fancy peas will lead to the inception of a progressively more grand ideal of life. Where will it end?
I was walking back with a bag of normal peas in my hand when I noticed someone walking by my cart at the other end of the aisle.
Try it motherfucker, I thought. Try to steal that shit. I'm beggin you. Test providence. How are we gonna do this? Huh?
The person walked closer.
Oh hell no, I thought. Hell fuck-ing no. I worked too hard assembling all that shit for you to just steal it. Over my dead fucking body.
I started to take my coat off then calmed down as the person walked by me and smiled.
Lucky. You're lucky, motherfucker. Must be a fucking angel watching over you. Next time, we'll see. God can't watch forever.
At the end of the aisle there was a full cart. I thought about taking it. I'd always wanted to steal a full cart and just push it somewhere else. No one would expect that. It would totally ruin their day. All that hard work undone. Those carefully selected bags of Fancy Sweet Peas and all those pizzas in the form of a bagel or a pocket. Gone. Vanished. The sorrow.
I went to the juice aisle and saw some Apple Strawberry Banana juice.
Oh yes, I thought. It's fucking party time. This is for me. I deserve this. It's time to treat myself. This will add joy to my life. This is for me. It's so sinful. I am naughty.
I heard someone walking behind me say, "Well, you said you needed this goddamn celery, now I got it and you say you don't need it. What the hell, Doris. Yes or no? I'm telling you now make up your goddamn mind."
"Keep it down, Harold."
"Yeah keep it down Harold," I said and then pulled out a shotgun and blasted my head against a box of cereal with a surfing kangaroo on the front. No, I didn't do that. I lied again. I promise I won't do it again.
I put the juice in my cart and went to the check out aisle. The guy at the register asked me how I was doing. I told him I felt great—like I was on heroin and getting my dick sucked by three girls at once.
He rang me up.
I said, "I will pay you fifty dollars to cut my head off with an axe."
He asked me if I wanted a bag for the gallon milk.
I said, "You're my gallon of milk baby."
He said, "Stop being a such a stupid asshole."
I apologized. Then I left the store.
On the drive home I heard a song in which the singer kept saying, "Ah'm so addicted to you." This song would only be cool if it were about Meth or maybe Oreos, I thought, and then turned the radio off.