I am over it

I will not rant anymore about grocery store trips. My husband called me out on the shopping trip we took a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, I was the aggressor most of the time and should have just gone down another aisle when I saw the same family with howling kids darting back and forth across the aisle as their parents parked right in the smack dab middle blocking all attempts to pass. I should have turned my heavy overloaded cart around a tight corner so they wouldn't have to begrudgingly move to one side and rein in their little heathen children, I mean little blessings. So the last shopping trip I stayed calm and just avoided the areas that I deemed troublesome. It made for a much more pleasant experience and Jason didn't think I was being bitchy. It really was much better. I let it go, I am over it and all is well. Breathe in...Breathe out. It isn't worth it. I must create my own serenity so I can keep my sanity. (picture represents my serenity....I am not sure what my sanity looks like since I am still trying to find it in its completeness.)

Thoughts and confessions of a grocery store shopper who suffers from aisle rage

I haven't posted my thoughts in a while due to the fact that I had very pressing matters distracting my attention. Bejeweled Blitz on Face Book is very time consuming; however, I mustn't disappoint any readers, so I have returned. I am very pleased to report that even though I speculated no one would read my posts, I actually have some followers. Well, one follower who happens to be my husband Jason (aka the Gnome), but that is still one more than I ever expected.



This morning I find myself preparing to go to the grocery store. I put off this task on the weekdays until finally on Saturday we have no other choice but to head to the crowded grocery aisles. I think part of the reason I wait until Saturday is so Jason is available for me to drag along for moral support. I must confess, that although I can't be certain because I don't know if it actually exists, I suffer from Grocery Store Aisle Rage. There are many aspects of shopping that lead up to my full blown aisle rage. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have been known to ram my shopping cart into unsupervised adolescents who have rudely darted into my path multiple times without so much as a meek "excuse me." If there are any support groups that will help me alleviate my pent up anger affliction, I need to sign up. But until then I will attempt self-therapy by confessing and explaining why my blood pressure shoots up, turning an easy going, loving life kind of gal into a raging she beast upon the instant my vehicle enters Grocery Store Territory. There are many unpleasant aspects to grocery shopping so it will take more than one post to explain them all. I am running short on time and must take leave of my ramblings before the store gets overly crowded so I will focus this time only on the Parking Lot.

It always begins in the parking lot. I have deduced that there are only three types of drivers in grocery store parking lots. 40% are "The Hellbents". Their mission consists only of finding the best parking spot. They look upon that ultimate space as a glorious crowning achievement. I have witnessed some throw all caution to the wind and go down the opposite direction of the gigantic yellow arrow painstakingly painted on the asphalt. That arrow is not only a beacon for those trying to navigate in an endless sea of confusing one way rows, but it is a symbol of a civil ordered society. It is a symbol blatantly ignored by the "Get the hell outta my way or suffer the consequence!" drivers. They will gun their vehicle's gas pedal as soon as they see their prime spot. Curbs, landscaping, other vehicles, pedestrians and babies in strollers are annoying, yet minor obstacles once they hone in on their intended position. They race into their targeted space screech to a standstill, jump out of the vehicle, pausing only to hear the "boop boop" confirmation of locked doors and enter the store with a smug smile. All the while they are oblivious to the angry horns intended for them and scattered victims with shocked faces recovering from just seeing their lives flash before their eyes.

About 50% of drivers make up the second category of rage inducing citizens. These are the ones who want a good spot but are in no hurry to get it. I call them "The Waiters" They will slowly cruise up and down rows searching methodically for an ideal space to ease into. The " I have nothing better to do than find the perfect spot and I don't care if I cause you to rear end me in the process" people will see someone remotely unlock their car door from 100 yards away and if that car is in a front row spot they will suddenly brake and wait. The shopper they are waiting on could have a basket brimming with purchased items, but the waiter will calmly bide his time. If the waiter saw the person returning to his vehicle a instant too late, they will abruptly stop and angle their car in a way that takes up the whole row. The fact that there is a line of traffic behind him stuck with no option to go around or back up means nothing to him. He just turns on his blinker, hunches over the wheel and turns a deaf ear to the horns and a blind eye to the person in his rear view mirror flipping him off. Then after allowing only the minimum amount of room for the exiter to squeeze out, he excruciatingly guides into the newly abandoned spot. It may take him multiple tries at different angles but eventually he makes his way in, oblivious to the fact that the driver of the car next to his passenger side has no chance in Hell of getting back into her vehicle on the appropriate side due to the inch of space between the two automobiles. He cares nothing about the other driver who will have to enter her car on the passenger side and unceremoniously crawl over the console to get into the proper seat and then ever so cautiously back out without scraping down the side of the intruding car. I must proudly confess that the waiters are the people I love to toy with. When I see one of those idiots waiting for my rare prime spot I enjoy loading everything into the car and dramatically acting as though I forgot something and dart back towards the doors of the store. Once the waiter disappointingly moves on I will return to my car and allow a much less annoying and more deserving "10 percenter" to lay claim on the space I vacate.

The 10 percenters is the category I obviously fall into. Also known as "The Normals" they enter the parking lot and immediately observe how crowded it is and based on that assessment pick a spot. A crowded lot equals a spot far away from the store. It is much easier to walk a distance than to get tangled in the mass of aimless top notch space searchers. Soaking rain or boiling asphalt is nothing compared to the throwing of elbows and nerves of steel required to navigate any closer to the store. Of course, when hiking to the store, I have to be cautious of the hellbents and at all times be ready to jump out of their paths (the waiters are not an issue since they immediately brake if I act as though I am heading toward a parked car in a fairly decent spot) I am usually inside the store pulling out my cart from its nesting row before the others are done looking for that ideal temporary home for their vehicles. Sometimes when it isn't too crowded I will chance upon a front row space giving me something to look forward to once I am done getting or forgetting most items on my list. I know I have many hardships to face once inside the store, so these precious few times of having a desirable area for parking give me a small glimmer of giddiness because once my shopping task is fulfilled and my bags are loaded I can screw yet again with one of the "waiters". That glimmer is usually temporarily forgotten the moment I set foot into the crowded store and I begin to focus most on my mantra of "I will not scream at anyone today, I will not scream at anyone today" as I try to squeeze past the produce aisle blockers as they pick up and squeeze every blessed piece of fruit there is. More of that to come, I have a grocery list I must attend to now.

There is nothing quite like a good water balloon fight to make a 30ish woman feel like a kid again. The action started innocently enough. We were to have an organized water balloon event for the kids. It started out as a few competitive tosses as I snapped a few pictures of the nieces and nephews delicately tossing their balloons and tenderly cradling them to keep them from bursting upon the catch. Suddenly without warning, I had tossed the camera down and jumped in on the action by snatching a balloon and flinging it at my dear husband, Jason. My recollection is a little hazy, but as it burst on his chest I think I may have stuck out my tongue at him. The few seconds of shock wore off of every ones faces and it was on. Jason haphazardly propelled the balloon he had in his hand for the organized balloon toss and missed me by a mile. James sprinted out into the line of fire to protect his big brother. As a reward for his effort, I pegged him right, smack on his pretty manly head. I had only a second to shout "Yesssss! and do a small "in your face" victory dance before Jeremy began to defend his brothers and fight for the family honor which forced me to take evasive maneuvers. In the blur of adrenaline , I may have knocked over a few kids, and even though they took a few hits intended for their Aunt Issa, I am sure they survived and won't have any long lasting ill effects. It was all over in a couple of minutes, but I came out with getting hit only once and that was only because in my wisdom I knew it was the last balloon, so I tried to catch it to launch it back to enemy lines, but my ring snagged it and it burst. (Sometimes it just isn't worth adorning myself with jewels) Even though, no one else there will admit it, I was the victor, and for a brief moment I was simply a kid again without a care in the world.

It reminded me of a summer day back when I was a kid. My brother and I bought some water balloons at Motts Five and Dime and painstakingly filled them all without losing any of the precious water weapons during the process. After a few seconds of chunking them at each other and remaining dry, we had just begun to realize that it wasn't much fun with just two participants. Suddenly in a surprise ambush my dad streaked from the side of the house and was lobbing water balloons at us faster than we could count. We were soaked before we even realized what happened and in awe at how fast our dad could run when we began the counter attack. That skirmish was over in just a few moments too, but we walked away with sloshy shoes knowing our dad was pretty cool after all, and adults didn't have to be grown up all the time. I am left to wonder if he was as sore the next day from his daring feat as I am today. Evidently adult muscles are not willing participants when it comes to our brief moments of acting not so grown up.