I should mind my own business at the grocery store
Before I regale you with my cautionary tale, let me just say that I know parenting is hard and I’m absolutely positive that I’ve been the main character in more than one dinnertime conversation. I imagine they begin something like this. “You wouldn’t believe the lady I saw at the store today.” With that disclosure out of the way, allow me to showcase myself at my most judgmental — watching other people parent at the store.
In my neck of the woods if you’re going to the grocery store on the weekend, it’s best to go early. Not too early, though. You have to time it just right to make sure you don’t arrive at the check out before 8 am. You can’t buy beer in New York before 8 am. No really, it’s the law, and I learned it the hard way one fine summer morning just before the 4th of July.
I’d spent twenty-five minutes picking out IPAs at the towering beer wall where you create your own six packs. This monster is like the indoor rock wall at REI. “Oh look, a row of that impossibly hard to find beer at the very top. I can just make it out through those cirrus clouds. Let me just clip on this harness…”
I got to the check out at seven that morning. The cashier ran all my groceries through, including plenty of freezer items, my thoughtfully chosen beer last at the end of the belt. I do that because they check ID at my store even if you’re clearly far, far, faaaar over 21. This way I don’t have to pull out my ID while loading the conveyor and drop all of my bank cards, pennies, gum, pepper spray, emergency flares, US Military Pocket Guide to Survival and Evasion Techniques (in case I accidentally drive into Pennsylvania on my way home) and other common purse contents all over the floor.
So when the cashier saw the beer, she apologetically told me I couldn’t buy it. She’d kindly hold them back for me and in an hour I could buy them. I looked at my loaded grocery bags, briefly considered waiting the hour, but then tacked on the twenty-five minutes it would take me to get home. I left, lesson painfully learned.
On a recent bright, early (but not too early) Saturday morning, as I was slowly rolling through the bakery aisle enjoying the calm, I saw a couple with two young girls. One girl looked to be around five, the other about two. The younger girl sat in the back of one of the two carts, which the five year old had been left in charge of.
I remember employing the two cart method with our son when he got too big for the seat by the handle. One cart for groceries, one cart for the rambunctious child whose simple wants included running down the aisle with all the glass jars, conveniently located at two year old eye level, and smashing them all to the floor.
The couple was having a heated discussion directly in front of the thick sliced bread, which is, of course, what I wanted. I debated reaching around their legs to get at it, but worried I might touch one of them in the process. Accidental stranger touching sends chills down my spine, so I decided to wait them out near the bagels.
I put a few bagels in a bag even though I didn’t want them, all the while glancing over at the couple. They were still arguing and the girl in charge of the cart was turning around and heading for a new aisle. Probably the magical aisle of books and cheap toys ready to break if you so much as look at them.
I inwardly groaned. I had to interrupt them now. It was my obligation as a parent (as a human) to help them, right? I’d want someone to do the same for me. But all I want is some damn bread! They just had to be here, airing their dirty laundry next to the sourdough, didn’t they? Come on Universe, work with me here! I’m irritable in the store, which is why I go early, to avoid people who will unknowingly irritate me.
As I approached them I clearly heard the woman say, “I don’t give a s***. You can tell your mom to f*** off.”
“Excuse me,” I said, because it was already coming out of my mouth and I couldn’t stop it. Trust me, if it had been possible, I would have. At the same exact moment the two year old in the cart screamed, drawing their attention.
The woman snapped at the man, “Now look!” and ran over to the little girls.
The man in turn, snapped at me, “What?”
Now, all I want is some damn bread here. Possible replies to his angry “what?” quickly flashed through my brain. The only reason I had approached them at all, was so I didn’t end up buying more bagels, and also, to alert them that their two children were heading out to make a new life for themselves in the sparkly-fun-time aisle. So, you’re welcome, good sir.
Instead I grabbed my bread and ignored him. I should have moved on. I should have continued my shopping because the experience was still salvageable. But when I heard the woman talking to her daughter, I was rooted to my spot.
“Abigail Evelyn Olivia Runs-with-Starfish Blythe Overhill Underhill Magnuson, do not raise your voice to a level 4 in the store. Your behavior is not appropriate. I want you to apologize to us now.”
Oh no, I can’t walk away. In fact, nothing could tear me away from this scene. She’d just told her husband that the woman who gave birth to him could f*** off, and she’s telling her daughter that she’s at a level 4? Can I legally film this?
Abigail Evelyn…let’s just call her Abbie Starfish (Did I just come up with a new Disney show?) looked her mother in the eye and screamed, “No! No! No!”
Wow. I was totally guessing, but I think she just took it to a level 5.
The father, sensing I was merely pretending to peruse the donut selection, said, “Can we just move on?” He attempted to herd them all to the pharmacy, where there were chairs for him to slump in. Been there.
“Shut up, David!” mother hissed over her shoulder. She seemed a little tense. I considered offering her a sour cream donut as a possible solution to her nerve situation, but it was the only one left and it was going home with me. “Let me handle this!”
“Fine! You always do!”
This was rapidly becoming almost too uncomfortable for me to witness, but you’ll be glad to know I hung in there like a champ.
The two year old, right on cue, began to cry and I smelled why. David saw his escape. In a lightning quick move straight out of an old Jackie Chan movie, he grabbed the two year old, yanked the diaper bag out of the cart, and bolted for the family restroom. Saved by the poo.
Abbie Starfish decided it would be a good time to roll around on the floor while sticking her tongue out. I’m not taking sides, but I kind of agreed with her decision. Her mother continued to use reason, which in theory, always seems like a good idea.
“The floor is dirty, sweetheart. There are germs on the floor. What happens when we get germs in our mouths? Do you remember the microscope lessons?”
“Like this?” the little angel licked her fingers.
Part of me wanted to fist pump and yell out, “Yes!” because I lied just now about not taking sides, I was 100% team Abbie Starfish, but the mom part of me said, “Oh, honey, don’t do that.”
Mother broke. “Don’t do that!” she shouted (level 3.5), but quickly regained her composure, “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up now.”
Incredibly Abbie Starfish obediently stood up. Then she ran. I mean, she ran! Mother tried to calmly walk after her, composedly calling her name, but once she was out of eyesight, I heard her running.
Do you ever look in someone else’s grocery cart and just know you couldn’t be friends with them? It’s all quinoa and probiotics and drinks fortified with Magnitar and Gludonkamaize and maybe some goat cheese. David and mother’s cart looked like that. I couldn’t see any actual food in it, except for a lone Anaheim pepper. Interesting. Also, very un-friend-worthy.
I decided to wait for David to return to the cart. They had a lot of specialty items in there, and I didn’t want a stocker to come take it away. Who knows if they’d ever find those ground pumpkin seed, olive juice, and rehydrated pencil shavings energy bars again? They’re probably just flying off the shelves. Plus, I kind of wanted to see what David would do. I’m awful.
What I saw gave me hope though, for David that is. He held the two year old’s hand, whose pants were now on backward, and in his other hand held an open bag of gummy worms. He’d already shoved a handful of them into his mouth. A drool covered yellow gummy tail hung out of his daughter’s mouth. Without missing a beat he put her back in the cart and walked away — whether to find his missing family or to the parking lot, then off to some faraway place, I’ll never know.
It’s so nice meeting new people.
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