Foraging

“Despite their burdens, they [the women] foraged as they traveled, and so efficiently it hardly slowed them down. A patch of day lilies was quickly stripped of buds and flowers, and tender new roots exposed with a few strokes of the digging sticks…shoots and tender young leaves of clover, alfalfa, dandelion; thistles stripped of prickles…a few early berries and fruits….newts and delectable fat grubs…a variety of bulbs, tubers, and roots…”
From The Clan of The Cave Bear by Jean Auel

That was a woman’s job back in the days of the Neanderthal. Women gathered the food wherever they could find it. It’s a little different now; we go “foraging” at the Kroger Store. Sometimes, it would be nice to have one of those “digging sticks.”

I despise grocery shopping, though I recognize it as a necessity. It is my “job” to bring home the bacon.

Preferably “applewood smoked.”

Since our larders were low, I forced myself out the door…at 6:15 in the morning, to avoid all crowds. I hate shoving little old ladies out of my way when I’m trying to shop. The store was void of customers when I arrived, though I later passed a few bleary eyed folks searching for an item or two. No one else was doing their monthly shopping. In fact, when I arrived the lights in the store were dimmed. When the management turned them on it startled me so much that I almost dropped a package of range free eggs.

It took great effort, as I marched down the aisles, to keep my thoughts on my grocery list and my eyes searching only for the things I knew I needed. The stores go to great lengths to put out enticing displays to wrest my money from me. I had no desire to fill my basket with unnecessary plastic objects. My bill at checkout was going to be painful enough without that (have you seen meat prices lately??).

I meticulously plucked my produce and dug my necessary foods from the shelves. Marking the last item off my list, I made a beeline for the checkout stand. I drew up short when I realized that there were no checkers! All that was open was the self-checkout. Shoving my brimming basket before me, I made my way to the “help desk” and found a “manager.” The kid hadn’t even grown whiskers, yet.

“Sir,” I purred, “could you please find me a checker so that I can pay for my purchases.“

He didn’t even glance up at me. He just said, “We don’t have any checkers yet this morning, you’ll have to use self-checkout.”

“Do whut?” I asked.

“The checkers don’t come in until 8:00.” he said. It was now 7:15 a.m.

I looked at my overflowing basket and replied, “This is a lot of groceries.“

He took a gander at my cart and shrugged, “I’ve seen people check out more than that in the self-checkout.”

“Well, you won’t see ME doing that.“

“Sorry, Lady,” he said, as he began to turn away, “you don’t have any choice.”

If I had a “digging stick,” I would have smacked him with it. Instead, I reached out and gently touched his arm. I put on my sweetest Southern drawl and an alarmingly charming smile.

“Honey child,” I crooned. “I DO have a choice. I choose to give you TWO choices. You can find someone to check out my groceries before I can count to one hundred, ” At that point, my voice got harsh, and my eyes grew wicked. “OR you can pay someone to put all this sh** back on the shelves, because I’ll be walking out of here and shaking the dust off my shoes as I leave.“

His eyes grew as big around as breakfast sausages. He whined, “Lady, I can’t…”

“One…two…“

“But, there isn’t anyone…”

“…three…four…“

“You can’t…”

“…five…six…“

At that point, he stomped over to a cash register and checked out my groceries himself.

Never mess with me before I have had my coffee. I don’t need no stinkin’ “digging stick.”

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5. House of Dang–A Darn Cool Shopping Experience

Tagged as: groceries, humor, rant, Shopping, Silly Is My Middle Name