…of the Mother Nature glow of pleasure and satisfaction with all that grows from this good earth and walks upon it. I’m an honest person and I’m sick to death of b.s. that tries to make us smile our way through total idiocy.
Beautiful morning, sunshine warming the asphalt parking lot of my local IGA. Smile and greet the older man sweeping the sidewalk, he’s the cashier I’ve almost always had in my years of popping into this small supermarket store.
Two items to pick up: Grapefruit juice and ice cream. Oh good, the juice is 2/$5.00. They only have one. That’s okay, I’m sure they’ll still give it to me–but wait, the expiration date is September 20th–today. So for $4.69 I buy the only other grapefruit juice available.
Ice Cream: Well, neat: Turkey Hill is on sale, 2/$6.00, as is Friendly’s–but wait, little yellow stickers inside the cooler show this special is on for select varieties only (and the flyer says this as well). Fine. I look long and hard, quick-open the door and move some containers of blueberry-crumb, party-cake, banana split and some god-awful combinations around, close the door, wait for the haze to clear, and look long and hard again. Do this a couple of times and finally am convinced that yes, there are none of the select varieties available–even if I wanted something gross like mint-peanut butter-chocolate. After fifteen minutes, I grab two Turkey Hill containers–not specifically noted as being on sale but rather at their normal price of $5.69 each, and at the counter tell the same nice little man that if they’re not at the sale price, I don’t want them. They ring at $3.00 each. Fine.
I should’ve left then and there but I couldn’t resist it and told him that the signs are misleading and I just spent fifteen minutes buying ice cream. He told me about the selective pricing–and I said yes, but that’s not the point; they had none of the advertised ice cream available, and no notice that anything instead would do. He argued the same selective spiel he’d already given me, and when he told me I was frustrated because I wanted to be frustrated, I told him that no, I was frustrated because of poor signage. This usually completely professional and competent little man then told me how so many customers think shopping is fun, and that if I looked at it as fun, well then, sure and begorrah, it would be!
I gave up before he did.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology