I do my shopping on Wednesdays.

At first, it was lovely, the store was almost empty.

Now, not so much.

First, I want to know who the fuck spilled the beans about empty-store Wednesday mornings? 

Second, why is the store so full of elderly people – and you know, you’re pretty fucking old, if I think you’re elderly – because, you know, I am the fat OLD lady. 

Pretty sure these folks are old enough to be God’s (that I don’t believe in) grandparents.

Hey – good on them – they’re still on the right side of the grass and all.

But do they have to go shopping the same time as me?

Old ladies by themselves, are not too much of an issue. 

Yes, they stop in the middle of the aisle and look bewildered and then spend an inordinate amount of time looking over what kind of chicken broth they should buy.  But most of the time, they seem to have a vague idea of what they are after.  And if they look really lost, I’ll ask what they are looking for and help them find it or I’ll get the can they want on that top shelf. 

The couples are more of a problem; mostly because she is no longer able to run herd on grandpa.  So, she is constantly having to stop to see what he is getting into – much like a young mom with her toddler running loose in the store. 

But the absolute worst are the old gentlemen left to their own devices.

They are such lost souls. 

Is it the immensity of the supermarket that boggles their minds?  Is it the wide variety of goods on display?  Is this their very first time in a grocery store?

And for some reason, there is always one of these guys in front of the fresh berries looking at each and every package.  Why are they always there?  Why do fresh berries attract elderly men?  I don’t know what they are looking for, but they clearly are not finding it.

Three times, I have overheard different old men talking with the produce clerk and the old man is always looking for some fruit that is supposed to be on special.  And each and every time, the special the old guy is looking for was a couple of weeks before. 


Specials don’t last until you get your sorry old wrinkly rusty-dusty to the supermarket.  You need to get there when the special is running. 

This is not rocket science.

On some level, I feel for these old fellows.  Clearly, someone else has done all the shopping for them and now, for whatever reason, they have been set adrift to fend for themselves. 

But, come on – it’s not that hard. 

You figure out what you want to eat.  You make a list.  You go to the store, you get the food, take it home and eat it.  Repeat. 

That is, truly, all there is to it. 

Now, after saying all these awful things, please tell me that I am not seeing my own future. 


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