Grocery Store Chronicles: 3 Vignettes From My Shopping Adventures

January 16, 2024January 16, 2024 / Ally Bean / 246 Comments

Pretty picture of puzzle pieces put together that has nothing to do with the subject of this post, but pretty picture gotta pretty, right?

~ • ~

TO BEGIN WITH

Over the years I’ve written about my grocery store shopping experiences and put the stories here under the tag: Grocery Store Chronicles.

[The story about discussing kinds of pears and the story about stealing potato chips have been the most popular. Also there’s Betsy‘s favorite story about me buying beer.]

While the following isn’t one complete story like those I linked to above, these are 3 vignettes about what I watched unfold, and entertained me, while shopping in ye olde Kroger this past holiday season.

LOVE CONQUERS CONFUSION

The layout of the first part of our store goes like this: produce, deli, cheese, bakery, then wine and beer.

It was coming up on New Year’s Eve, busy everywhere in the store.

I’d just seen a couple in their 40s picking out some produce for something specific, while overhearing them talk about making something special to take somewhere.

Moving on I went to the cheese kiosk and found myself standing with about 10 other people there as well as the couple. I looked around and realized that the wife was on the verge of tears because, as she explained for all to hear, she couldn’t remember which kind of cheese she was supposed to buy.

She turned to her husband and said: I dunno, I can’t remember. I’m just a little ball of confusion.

To which he said: You know what I like about that?

Her, sad: No…

Him, leaning in to hug her: You’re MY little ball of confusion.

She smiled weakly while all of us standing around the cheese kiosk in unison went: Aww…

And with that he kissed her and said: I’ll go get the beer while you figure out the cheese. Meet you back here.

KARMA GOT HER NUMBER

It was crowded in the store with people and displays of food/wine everywhere.

Zen-Den and I had a small cart full of items and were heading to the U-Scan lanes to buy our stuff. A woman walking behind us to the U-Scan was impatient with our pace. She did a wild dash around us to get to the U-Scan lanes first, giving us the evil eye as she went by.

We shrugged.

As fate would have it, despite our pace, we ended up in the U-Scan spot beside her, which when she saw us caused her to snarl our way.

We shrugged.

Well, as Z-D played cashier scanning our items, I stood there and watched her, surreptitiously. And here’s what happened: her first credit card was rejected. Her second credit card was rejected.

And when we left having successfully scanned, packed, and paid for our groceries, she was holding a third credit card that had been rejected, while talking on her cell phone with someone.

Half of me felt sorry for her because I’d guess everyone has had a credit card rejected at some point and it is frustrating, BUT considering how impatient she was and her negative attitude toward us… I smiled.

Ha!

WHEN THE WRONG THING IS RIGHT

I was waiting in the cashier line, standing behind a Dad with a cart heaped with groceries and a 3 y.o. sitting in the basket cart seat. The Dad was at the front of the cart while the boy was directly in front of me.

The little guy was laser-focused on everything his Dad was putting on the conveyor belt. Nothing escaped his notice.

About halfway through unloading the cart the boy told his Dad: That’s the wrong milk.

Dad: What?

Boy: It’s blue.

Dad: WHAT?

Boy: It should be red.

Dad, catching on that his son was talking about the color of the label on the milk: No the blue one is right this time.

Boy, raising his eyebrow like the 50 y.o. man he’ll be: Mom. buys. red.

Dad, still putting items on the conveyor belt: The blue one is buttermilk. It’s the right one this time because Mom is making cookies and this is what she uses.

Boy, shaking his head, rolling his eyes, explaining to me under his breath: Mom BUYS cookies… and she’s gonna be mad about no red milk.

~ • ~

QUESTIONS OF THE DAY

So, been shopping in a brick and mortar store lately? And how did that go for you?

Overheard anything that made you smile?

Or watched something happen that brought out the snark in you?

Or confirmed that kids can be wise beyond their years?

~ ~ • ~ ~

The Mystery Of The Missing Marjoram + Reader Comments About Manufactured Victories

November 14, 2023November 15, 2023 / Ally Bean / 245 Comments

TALKING ABOUT MARJORAM

“I have always relied on the kindness of strangers.”

We needed some marjoram. NEED I tell ‘ya! Zen-Den was making gyros for dinner.

He’d made the tzatziki sauce, bought the feta and black olives and pitas and peppers, but alas and alack when he went to put together the dry blend for flavoring the meat we didn’t have any marjoram.

Thus I went to the grocery to buy some.

Being familiar with our Kroger I knew where the spice aisle was in the store, but when I stood there looking at the shelves with about 3 gazillion jars and containers and bottles of spices and herbs and extracts, I didn’t see marjoram.

In fact, I couldn’t even find a little tag that showed it had ever been on a shelf.

As if, I muttered, knowing it had to be there, right?

So in what for an introvert might be considered stepping outside your comfort zone, I asked two friendly chatty women standing beside me if they saw any marjoram. Turned out they were a mother [70-ish] and her daughter [40-ish] who were enthusiastic about joining my impromptu scavenger hunt in the spice aisle.

Hence we three stood there, positioning our bifocals just so, and looked for the elusive marjoram plus what they were looking for [thyme and poultry seasoning]. We found what they needed, many times over, but the marjoram just wasn’t there.

I shrugged, thanked them for their help and went on my way, walking a few aisles away from the spice aisle to where I knew I needed to pick up something else.

From my favorite webcomic called Underpants and Overbites

But as I was standing in the middle of that aisle, I heard the younger woman yelling “I found it!” as she ran up to me with a jar of marjoram. She handed me the herb and explained that she’d found it with the label turned around backwards, in the wrong spot, hidden behind some oregano.

And then because she was a compassionate foodie person, she’d come looking for me by going up and down the aisles, wanting to make sure I got what I came to the store for.

Bashfully, almost apologetically, she explained that once she started doing something she had to finish it, she was compulsive like that, and this sort of search was her thing.

I had to find it, she told me.

I thanked her over and over, then waved good-bye while thinking, there really are some nice people in this world who don’t want to do anything more than just help other people.

And fortunately for the fate of our Greek dinner, I’d just met one.

QUESTIONS OF THE DAY

Have you ever asked a stranger for help finding something in a store? How’d that go for you?

Do you wonder sometimes how we have evolved into a society in which an act of kindness like this one is so rare that it is almost shocking?

Do you use marjoram in cooking? We have a lot of it now, so any recipe suggestions are welcome.

AND FINALLY FOUR READER COMMENTS…

About the Value of Manufactured Victories:

“Manufactured victories are part of my time management process. Like painting a wall. I get out the paint, then celebrate. Check for the brushes (which I find), dropcloths and tools. Then I celebrate. Now I notice I forgot something and need a store run. The good news-bad news is that I get to celebrate when I come home. All this celebrating and I haven’t yet painted the dang wall!”

~ Kate Crimmins

“… every blog post is its own victory–over apathy, inertia, and sometimes technology…. I feel like failure gets a bad rap in our winner-centric country. I’d like to normalize failure, especially for our kids. You might not have won, but you learned a ton!”

~ AutumnAshbough

“I think manufactured victories are very similar to moral victories, where the object was not to win but to actually try real hard. (Of course, a win is nice, too.)”

~ John Holton

“I don’t agree with the Vulcans that the DS9 crew had manufactured their victory. They were victorious in their sportsmanship. They didn’t begrudge the Vulcans their win, but the DS9 team had fun and experienced healthy camaraderie by showing up and playing together.”

~ Marie A Bailey

A Potpourri Of Pipsqueaks & Problems & Poems, Oh My

October 17, 2023 / Ally Bean / 225 Comments

The Pipsqueak Part – So Much Energy, I Had To Laugh

In the mornings after I wake up my ritual is to brew a pot of coffee, pour myself a mug of the stuff, and [when possible] go outside to drink it whilst gazing upon nature, absorbing the stillness of morning.

Being at one with the universe, dagnabbit.

However the other morning at about 7:20 am, as I’m communing with nature sitting on the deck at the back of our house, I hear noise. It’s a loud unfamiliar sound coming from the front of the house.

What am I hearing?

It’s the kids, the little twerps, kindergartners mostly, in front of our house waiting for the school bus to pick them up. And they are all howling like wolf pups, loudly, with gusto.

Which has prompted neighborhood dogs in backyards, like Irene [Great Dane], and Cookie [Dalmatian], and Rocco [Beagle-ish pound puppy] to join in with the little human wolf puppies, howling louder than the kids.

Creating a glorious cacophony, that while unexpected, got me laughing so hard I almost spilled the coffee in my mug.

And that would never do.

The Problem Part – In Which We Mourn A Loss

After 12 years of service our furnace died. We knew the end was coming but buying a new one isn’t exactly the most exciting use of money. Nonetheless with a loud *sigh* we got a new one.

The new furnace, like its predecessor, is in our unfinished basement. The installation took most of a day and went smoothly under the auspices of a guy I shall call Jake. He was quiet, knowledge, and seemed to have endless energy.

Welp, once the furnace was hooked up Jake had us follow him into the basement so he could explain the new furnace, as in parts and filters, and to show us the new sticker with his name on it saying that he’d installed the furnace.

Every time a maintenance tech comes to service the furnace they leave their initials on the official permanent sticker that starts with the name of the guy who installed it.

Very organized.

But here’s the thing, the unexpected turn in what we assumed would be a standard conversation with Jake, he got choked up when talking about putting his sticker on our furnace.

Come to find out 12 years ago Jake’s beloved mentor, Tom, had installed our old furnace placing his sticker on it. And, as Jake explained, seeing Tom’s writing on the old sticker reminded Jake that Tom had recently died.

Jake was visibly bereft about Tom’s passing, on the verge of tears. Thus while Zen-Den and I politely said things like “my condolences” and “I’m sorry for your loss” Jake stopped talking entirely. Then we three stood in front of our new furnace having an impromptu minute of silence in honor of Tom.

May he rest in peace.

The Poem Part – I Gave It A Try And Here Is What I Wrote

A couple of weeks ago Kari at a grace full life wrote a poem based on an “I Am From” template [HERE]. Then after sharing her poem she politely challenged us to write our own poems.

Challenge accepted!

Below is my poem, titled in the way that Kari did hers, created by following the prompts on the template, but written using my own punctuation because, really, the punctuation on the template makes no sense.

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My “Where I’m From” Poem

I am from legal pads of yellow paper

From office supply stores and college book stores.

I am from the small house on a brick street

Comfy, well-tended, scented with bayberry candles.

I am from hickory nuts,

Purchased whole, shelled, and baked into a birthday cake.

I’m from artificial Christmas trees and frugality

From Daisy Alice and JW.

I’m from helpers and bookworms

From relatives who preached the gospel and taught school.

I’m from Methodists and Presbyterians, a family that went to church but didn’t take it too seriously.

I’m from Ohio and can look to Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and Germany to find my ancestors.

I’m from Garibaldi biscuits and strong black loose tea measured in metal tea balls,

From childhood afternoons with my stay-at-home dad who eschewed coffee for tea, always.

The people who came to the USA to farm, and to fight in wars, and to get an education,

Leaving but a few photos of themselves behind,

While handing down antique furniture, most unique.

~ ~ • ~ ~

A Party, A Conversation, A Confused Me: What Does Mainstream Mean To You?

September 7, 2023September 14, 2023 / Ally Bean / 210 Comments

I WAS AT A PARTY where I ended up in a weird conversation that confused me. Generally speaking, being empathetic, I’m good at intuiting what is really being said, reading between the lines, but this time… I dunno.

Here’s what happened:

I was standing in the kitchen [no surprise, right?] talking with three pleasant women, one of whom I’d just met. The other two I’ve seen maybe 2 times in the last 10 years, so not friends– more like casual almost acquaintances that pass in the night.

What I know for sure about these woman is that they each:

are married to the father of their children;
have kids in college, hither and yon across the US;
work outside the home, in different industries; and
attend Christian churches of different denominations.

• • •

{ source }

• • •

ONE WOMAN WAS TALKING ABOUT how her youngest child would be out of college by the end of the year. This meant that she was to the point of thinking about leaving her full-time job. This woman wasn’t sure what she was going to do next, but it was NOT going to be what she’d been doing.

To me this seemed like a standard conversation, at least until the woman I just met said: “Well, just make sure that whatever you do it next isn’t mainstream.”

And with that the three started laughing, loudly, glancing at each other as if this was the funniest thing anyone ever said.

I was lost.

The conversation continued with them talking about how they could never be mainstream– except that they were rolling their eyes like this was an inside joke and they knew they were mainstream.

I was still lost.

As a free-spirited woman who has never been called mainstream I was clueless about what was being implied by the word mainstream, yet I knew something was up.

At this point I’d have asked clarifying questions, but we were interrupted by someone who walked into the kitchen with a story to tell– and I never got the chance. Considering these are casual acquaintances [at best], I’m not going to call one and ask what was really going on.

• • •

{ source }

• • •

NATURALLY I’VE BEEN WONDERING about the conversation:

🔹 Was it about how they considered themselves to be the very definition of mainstream, embracing the word as a kind of mantra, taking it to be complimentary?

🔹 Was it about how they never would define themselves as mainstream, so there’s no way that one of them could ever do anything mainstream, taking it to be derogatory?

🔹 Were they talking about something else in reference to mainstream, like a pop culture or political or small town allusion that I’m not familiar with, something like that maybe?

Obviously I don’t know, but this conversation has stayed on my mind, stumped by what was really going on. Thus I’m asking you, my little moonbeams of conversational clarity, for your take on this.

Help me understand, please.

~ 🔹 ~