This week’s topic: grocery stores. Again. Yes, it’s a topic I’ve touched on a few other times, but I hate going to the grocery store because I can’t seem to get out of there without spending less than $60 on shit that easily fits in one of those plastic carry thingies. Every time the total rings up I’m like you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Toothpaste and mouthwash and a sixer of beer is how much?? Shit, for that much money, I’d rather buy four beers at a bar and skip the oral hygiene…
Yeah, yeah… you can save money elsewhere, I know. I have a Costco membership, but I’ve learned to use it for buying appliances and televisions and tires for my truck. I’m one person and I live by myself. I can’t buy groceries there because they think that everyone that shops there needs a six month supply for a family of twelve. I bought some dryer sheets there about a year ago and then, because I do laundry every six months, I couldn’t remember if I had any on my next visit and I bought some more. I have like 3000 dryer sheets now. Every time I do laundry I’m like ‘What the fuck do I do with all these damn dryer sheets?’ I’ll never use them all so I try to come up with creative uses for the damn things. As you might have guessed, dryer sheets are really only good at being dryer sheets… and my experiements have taught me two things: zapping them in the microwave makes the house smell like a pine forest on fire, and although they look kinda like Kleenex, I don’t recommend wiping your ass with them if you run out of toilet paper. Trust me… Quilted Northern is quilted for a fucking reason…
And forget buying fresh food there. Every once in a while I space out and buy a bag of onions or potatoes and six months later I end up with a science experiment in my pantry. It starts with those tiny little flies buzzing around the kitchen that make you think you left the front door open too long… then, one day as you’re cleaning up, you catch a whiff of something foul emanating from behind the pantry door. Your heart sinks because you know it’s gunna be bad… and since whatever is in there is probably self-aware, you have no clue what the hell you’re going to see when you open the door. The anticipation is horrifying. Do I need a rubber gloves? Should I be wielding a kitchen knife in self defense? What the hell is that funk? Asparagus? A watermelon? Did a fucking squirrel die in there??
Opening the door reveals a sack of garlic that, in the dim light, looks like tiny fat people indulging in a Roman orgy. It’s moving. A lot. And the squadron of fruit flies are pissed about you killing their brothers yesterday. This, no shit, happened to me when I had a girl over for dinner… and the only thing worse than having to combat an army of the undead is being forced to do it without screaming like a little bitch. The body’s natural tendency is to recoil in terror, but I couldn’t do that. No… I not only had to attack, but to kill the enemy quickly and silently before my date could round the corner to help serve dinner. ‘Can I help you in the kitchen?’ I was like, ‘Uhh, no, it’s cool… start the movie and I’ll be right there’… ugg… urp… I just tasted puke… God help me…
When faced with a split-second decision, your mind will immediately reach for what it’s been conditioned to do… just like a soldier in combat. For some reason, my mind instantly thought of paper towels. A fucking shitload of them. This, my friend, is not the right decision. Half a roll of Bounty paper towels might be able to absorb the water in your toilet bowl… but paper isn’t a good weapon against what is essentially a caged animal seeing sunlight for the first time. You need something that, at the very least, doesn’t absorb moisture. Think Shopvac. Or maybe a leaf blower. You need something powered by electricity or gasoline that includes a series of blades spinning at high velocity…
I could go on, but I think you get the idea. So instead of going to Costco, I go to the grocery store for everyday items… and when I’m ready to pay too fucking much for too fucking little, I’m greeted with Todd the checkout boy armed with a nugget of friendliness to make me feel better about being ass-rammed. “Find everything you were looking for today?” No, asshole, I need a dime bag and a Thai prostitute — yes I found everything okay. Now ring me up before I wring your neck. If I was interested in conversation, I’d be discussing the meaning of life with a 50 pound sack of Russet potatoes I purchased in 2003…
More to come.
— Bingo