I just came back from the
supermarket. It's 2:39
AM EST.
For me, there's nothing better than capping a vigorous
day with a late, late trip to the local
food store. Unlike during
daylight hours or early
evening, there are no long lines to wait upon, no
children with
chocolate smeared
faces to run up to you and stick their
grubby little
fingers all over your nicely pressed
slacks. There are few
little old ladies to mow you down with their
carts, and even fewer
husbands arguing with their
wives over the latest indulgence food. I am alone, with my
shredded wheat and extra-firm
bean curd, my tubs of
yogurt and slab of
ground turkey. I am secure in my polished world of
lineoleum,
REO Speedwagon playing softly in the backround, the click of
price tag guns rising from the
automotive goods aisle. Perfect?
Well, no. The
grumpiness is still there, attenuated by the lack of a
crowd but still present. Since there is usually only one
cashier, there is a much greater chance that the cashier will be grumpy as well. I can't blame them, since I
work during the day and play on the
computer at night while they work a
graveyard shift bagging
groceries. I was lucky today; the cashier was extra nice. Perhaps it was because she was leaving in five minutes. Perhaps it was because I reflexively bagged my own groceries. I was acting from shades of a previous
New York, before the days of self-serve aisles and cashiers who actually bag rather than stare at you while you fumble with a
watermelon. In any event, I find that I can weave my way in and out of the store more quickly when the only threat is having my
ankle jabbed by a wayward
stock truck carrying
Tide with Bleach Alternative.
The only problem is waking the
neighbors pulling the car in at nearly 3 AM.