A Trip to Wal M*rt with Lucy and Lori

Why do my all my recent trips to the store always lead me to a blog post? Maybe because it's what gets me through the experience without losing my mind. Lucy and I went to load up on groceries last night and keeping my sense of humor through it all was difficult at best. Nothing truly devastating happened, thankfully. I was just tired.


Let me start with parking lot manners. Look, if you are one of those people who dart diagonally across the place as if the lines are there for everyone else but you....STOP IT!! I'm not sure what goes through the minds of those who think that driving like that won't create havoc...if everyone did that....well, you would quickly see what driving in Ch*na is like. Also, there really should be a sign in one parking spot that says, "Parking only for that gal who is tired, cranky, can't face dealing with anything/one that will hinder a quick-as-possible, though spending way-more-than expected trip inside....and whose name is Lori." Ok, that takes care of the outside, now let's go inside.


What's up with there never being anyone at the deli meat counter? Why do I have to circle around the bananas, onions and out of season watermelons (that Lucy insisted on me buying, and yes, I bought because I'm a push-over) only to find no one there again? Why can't there be a hair-netted guy or gal stationed there the entire time...their only job being to slice the various nitrate-filled pressed meats? (sidenote: why is it that there is always one guy who can't seem to part with his facial follicles resulting in having to wear a beard-bib? Doesn't he know how ridiculous he looks? Oh well, at least it keeps me from finding his gotee in my ham salad) Ok, nevermind...it's really not that important, just an annoying observation. You know how I try not to complain.


And why in the world is the bread in the very first aisle? Shouldn't the softest, most easily smashed things in the store be the very last, allowing your loaves to ride on top of everything else thus removing all fear of distorted Wonder buns? It's obvious that a man (or toddler) designed the store layout.


As I pushed my now heaping shopping cart through the dairy section Lucy stands up (in the cart) and kind of squats down....umm, not a good sign. Me, blurting out before I can even give my thoughts-turned-to-words any pondering, "Lucy, do you have to go poop?" Ok, I quickly realize that I desperately want this to be a rhetorical question because I see that the look on her face indicates a light bulb has just gone off in her little amazing brain. I've just given her an out to her imprisonment. She says, as if she wished she had thought of it first, "YES!! I have to poop!" **sigh** Quickly analyzing the situation trying to use my now many years of mothering experience to make a decision on the reality of the predicament. Does she really have to go?? Or is she bluffing....If she's bluffing then I know what the future holds for me if I give in to her oust. We will head to the bathroom, abandon our cart (in hopes that no one will shop from it while it sits patiently outside the ladies' room), and then I will deal with the yucky dirty potty place. Lucy will then sit there & sit there...asking me questions, commenting on off-the-wall topics and we will likely leave without.....leaving anything behind.


I made a confident, yet uncertain decision to call her bluff & say, "Let's wait until we get home ok?" It turned out to be the right choice but not after her several comments, quite loudly I might add, saying, "Mama, I have to POOP!!" ......."No you don't Lucy".....Wow, that was a gutsy gamble, but I won. I know what I'm doing folks.


Doing a quick review of what's in my cart (noticing how irresponsible this former Future Homemaker of America member & VP has been with buying so many convenience foods...apparently my (successful) homemaker status is still in Future) and what I might have left behind that I will be kicking myself later for forgetting, we head for the checkout for the always adventurous time there.

NO MATTER WHAT my million trips to the grocery store has taught me, I will ALWAYS, ALWAYS pick the wrong check out lane. ALWAYS. Try as I might to evaluate the important factors in choosing a fast check-out (such as...what do the people in front of me look like...are they care-free looking..as if they have all the time in the world? Or do they appear to be efficient in cramming all their stuff on the conveyer belt...What does the cashier look like? Is he/she a teenager (really, really bad sign), or an old lady who requires a stool to sit on (another really, really bad sign). But that doesn't matter because if I'M in the line....it will be the wrong choice. ALWAYS. And of course this time was no exception.

You know that cashier who is about your mom's age and knows well the science of bagging your groceries...nice, neat, bread/eggs on top, cleaning products far from your chicken....you know the gal. I didn't get her. I got teen-age guy who is only working there just long enough to buy new woofers for his car stereo. He apparently has never experienced the heartache of finding your bread morphed into a shape that no geometry professor could describe. Thanks Sonny.

Well, the saga continued as we unloaded all our freshly-purchased goods but I will leave that for another day. I need to go reshape my bread.