Right Hook

Yesterday was another perfect Autumn weather day here in the Northeast. For reasons not completely understood, I chose it to finally hit BJ’s for some way-overdue supplies.

For those of you that are not familiar, BJ’s is one of those bulk-package warehouse-places…where in order for it to be worth your while, you must be willing to:

• purchase everything in considerable amounts…sometimes as much as triple what you’d normally buy (you never know when there could be a massive community shortage of Comet...or Jell-o…you could be everyone’s HERO)
• be prepared to see a total higher than anything you’ve previously paid (possibly EVER) in one outing for household supplies and food (you’ll see your own horrified expression replicated up and down the other checkout aisles…not that it will make you feel any better)
• walk for approximately three miles through a complex array of products, whilst artfully dodging those ladies who are trying to get you to sample the newest chicken strips disguised as French fries (nothankyouverymuchreallythanksanyway)

Amazingly, people will actually pay a membership fee for the honor…no, the privilege of shopping in this store…that’s how SPECIAL it is. What kind of hype is this? A membership fee to go shopping? Who’s falling for this practice in deception, anyway??

Alas, I am one of those people.

The carts are extra-big and the aisles are extra-wide. This does not in any way make it any easier to push a 30 pound cart with a severe right hook that’s loaded down with another 20 pounds of orange soda, spring water, liquid soap, aluminum foil and enough paper towels to clean up the next year’s worth of bloody noses, Heaven forbid and knock on wood.

So there I am…trying to accumulate all the items on my l-o-n-g list…and I’m only able to make right hand turns, severely cutting into my “IN, OUT, DONE” technique of efficiency-shopping. The good news is that people are giving me a wide berth. They seem to instinctively realize that once moving, I am incapable of stopping my shopping cart…I’m like a MACK truck careening down the freeway…you wouldn't expect a MACK truck to just stop, now would you? It’s a simple law of physics…a cart in motion will tend to stay in motion….whilst decidedly leaning to the right, that is.

By the time I got to the front of the store and the checkout lanes, I couldn't fit any other items on my cart. (Notice I use the word “on” and not “in”, for I’ve surpassed “in” about 30 minutes ago.) Everything’s precariously balanced so as to take into account the extra right-hand-turns I’ve been forced to endure…my entire cart is an exercise in stability. Or not.

Not that it matters. Now I have to unload to pay for said items. I am a huge fan of the Self-Checkout lanes…it gives one a limited amount of control in an environment where I haven’t had much, up to that point. Besides, I like the computer-generated-voice that announces the price of each item. I especially like the way her voice gets downright chipper when the item scanned is over, say ten dollars:

“TEN dollars, forty-nine cents!!! That’s a LOT of sponges! Do you use them more than once?! They’re reusable, you know! But what do I care?! I’m a computer!”

As you would imagine, the other end of the automated conveyor belt fills up pretty quickly…especially because I’m trying to scan fast enough to make the computer-lady-voice interrupt herself…a trick I find to be highly amusing. Then she inevitably shuts down on me and announces “The baggage area is full. And stop trying to make me interrupt myself…it’s embarrassing and only shows how immature you humans really are.” This mini tongue-lashing (combined with the now-blinking light overhead…stupid computer…) is enough to catch the attention of the employee whose only job is to oversee us self-checkers and make sure we don’t try to abscond with a 12-pack of toothbrushes, a 48 pack of Duracell batteries, or something equally decadent.

This is actually a good thing, as he will wind up helping me repack my cart on the other end whilst I continue terrorizing the computer-scanner…a maniacal high-pitched giggle escaping from my lips. He’ll also use the handy-dandy hand-scanner to hit the heavier items (all the while glancing sideways at me with a look somewhere between fear and amusement).

It will then proclaim my grand total in its loudest computer-voice, with just a hint of sarcastic-satisfaction added for good measure. All those within earshot with smile that sad smile of their own, knowing their mind-blowing total is just around the corner...so, they feel my pain. I’ll dutifully swipe my already-burdened credit card and with herculean effort will attempt to coax the cart back into motion. The tenuous ride through the parking lot is next, with me frantically grabbing items as they attempt to jump ship as we bounce over, under around and through the various stragegically-placed potholes, dips and garbage that stands between the store and my ride. Finally making it to my car...I'll once again unpack, repack and balance for the ride home.

It'll be a miracle if the bread makes it home in anything close to its original loaf-shape-design and if the bulk-packaged ground beef hasn't mated with the Jarsburg cheese to have produced the world's only 10-pound food item guaranteed to clog your arteries, raise your chloresterol and leave a copious amount of unidentified blood on the carpet on your back seat floor. All this is never planned, mind you...it was that sudden stop to keep from hitting squirrel #54728 of the year that caused everything to fly helter-skelter, with even the chips falling where they may. (As usual, pun intended)

Lucky for me, I’ve got two strapping boys at the other end of this experience. Whatever makes it through the garage and up the stairs without being devoured is deemed edible/useable for the foreseeable future. They no longer ask what the hell happened to the bread/meat/cheese/chips during the long car ride home...my scowl ususally says it all.

And then we’re golden once again.