Grocery Store Gladiator
An Alan Partridge Pastiche
Like every time I enter the Meijer1 parking lot, I turn in at the earliest access point and make a circle so I position my car at the north east corner of the lot. I park in a spot that allows me to simply drive forward out of the lot, rather than having to reverse into the lane and then drive out. While a little farther from the entrance, this position makes for a quick exit which is arguably the more important option between a short walk to the store or a quick, efficient egress.
Yesterday, while circling in like a Japanese Zero, an ancient, pre-2010 lump o’ rust that somehow survived Obama’s Car Allowance Rebate System program (colloquially known as “Cash for Clunkers”) pulled into the very spot I was aiming for, causing me to swerve back into to the lane and narrowly avoid clipping a shopper who stopped in the middle of the lane to look at her phone, like a fucking idiot. I was forced to park in the general area I liked but not in my preferred parking spot. Looking through my rear view, I caught a glimpse of the imp making his way to the store. He was a little toad of a man sporting a L.L. Bean Field jacket and a pair of those formal but casual shoes that look like dress shoes up top but have a sneaker-like sole. Typical of a Condé Nost reading weenie, he was gripping a reusable canvas bag, proudly displaying his dedication to reduce his single-use plastic consumption. I grabbed my canvas bag and headed in, walking at a brisk pace to narrowly cut him off at the entrance.
We crossed paths once, in front of the cottage cheese and dairy based dips section of the refrigerated goods aisle. I stole a glance in his cart: Pop Tarts, Cheetos brand mac n cheese, and a jar of alfredo sauce. Suddenly my sworn enemy, who incited so much anger in me I had to put on my enchanted forest playlist instead of my usual grocery store Canadian rock playlist, seemed so insignificant. He was not the conniving tactician conspiring to ruin my shopping experience and spike my blood pressure. He was a 29 year old kid. I purchased my items: ground flax seed, tahini, a condolence card for a friend who just lost her clay wheel throwing mentor, and six boxes of Milk Duds. I walked to my car, a changed man. Feeling a mix between profound sadness and brotherly pity for this man, I penned a quick letter of encouragement.
“You’re doing great, man. Keep your chin up. Seriously, work on posture and get into mewing.”
I folded the inspiring missive and pinned it beneath his windshield wipers, which were in a state of serious disrepair.
Did my note light a fire under this man? I’ll never know. It started raining pretty hard shortly after I left, and I doubt the note would be legible after a sustained wetting.
Meijer Inc. is a chain of supermarkets based in West Michigan and has stores in several other Midwest states.