Shop 'Til You Drop

Once in front of my house, I reconsider the drive by and take the time to exit the vehicle, say hello to the cat and preheat the oven, all while looking for a more comfortable pair of shoes to stand in line for hours in.

Once at the Superfresh, I am lucky to get a cart. There are exactly two. And from the looks of them they should have been sent to the junk yard years ago. I pick the one with the wheel that squeaks over the one with the alignment problem.

I start with what I know will be in short supply. Bread. There is nothing resembling the plain old white bread that is the only sliced bread my children will eat. I can have my pick of rolls and bagels, but not bread. I opt for some bagels. I know they’ll eat them, if only under duress.

There is no milk. No 1%, 2% or full fat. I can have all the soy milk or buttermilk I want. I bee-line it to the organic aisle. I know I can pass that off as regular milk. And if not, at least there is something to put in my coffee.

Eggs. Picked over and lots broken. I can buy the brown kind. I will just have to make sure I break them before anyone sees what’s going into the pancake mix.

Good luck getting water, Spam, Velveeta cheese, and a whole host of other things that I would never think to buy. I am surprised the shelves have been cleared of them. I didn’t hear anything about prying open and restocking the fallout shelters.

The rest of my trip is essentially uneventful, except for the madding crowd. People are clearly panicking and unsure of what they’ll need. It is hard to predict how you’ll manage if you lose electricity and refrigeration or water. But it is not like we live in some remote deserted location. I am sure if I need a roll of toilet paper one of my neighbors will give me a loner. My cart looks unlike any other I have filled this year, except I’ve had to go with some second string manufacturers.

I get in line. There are a few people willing to endure the harassment they will surely get for taking a full cart to the self checkout. I am not one of them. I get in a line with a half dozen other folks at a checkout aisle that is about to get a fresh cashier. Call to the Bullpen!

But the dynamics in line are hilarious. I chat up the woman behind me. She has a cart full of baby food, and diapers and wipes and formula. Clearly she wants to be prepared for a long stint of inconveniences without impact to her children. I applaud her. She also has a few items that could pass as staples for her and the hubby. And a treat or two. To eat by firelight, I presume.

The lady in front of me also has a full cart. She doesn’t have a single item of caloric integrity in her whole cart. Hummus. Pita chips. Doritos, Fritos, Cheetos, (all the Os) Onion dip. Vegetable dip. Salsa. Baba Ganoush. Chips, scoops, crackers, all manner of baked, fried, crisped vehicles with which to lift a high fat substance to one’s mouth.

Ice cream. Poppers. Bake at home soft pretzels. Cupcakes. Muffins. Bakery cookies. Prepackaged marshmallow treats. The complete line of Tastykake, Li’l Debbie and Hostess.

And I wonder, with all of us out doing our Apocalypse shopping, did this woman actually think she or maybe her loved ones would not survive a full day with out hors d’oevres and dessert?

The shift manager has come to his little desk to make change for a cashier. He can not be even 20 years old. It is his finest hour. I harass him, in a good natured way, about the lack of carts. The mother behind me gives him a hard time about the number of check out aisles with no one to check anyone out.

But I have a better suggestion. The aisles should be prioritized. Those that have a real genuine mission could get to the front of the line based on the nature of their purchases.

Staples and essentials. Those folks buying survival items to outlast the storm can an EZPass to a seasoned cashier.

Garden-variety shoppers. Those who are doing their regular shopping and would be here buying the same cart load of stuff whether Irene was on her way or not, get the next best thing. Someone who is on their second shift of a double, earning combat pay. Good but a little weathered.

Junk Foodies – Like the lady in front of me. The people out just clearing the shelves because they have an excuse to buy loads and loads of crap and then eat it before it all goes bad, get to self check out. And if they don’t know how, we’ll give them a rookie. Someone from the back of the house who will ensure that it is sheer torture.

Soon enough I am scanned and bagged and $140 lighter. I call my kids. One last stop and I will be home. I load up my car and coast down the lot to the liquor store. Irene is coming. Time to stock the bar.