Grocery Shopping For Dummies

I was seventeen when my dad went back into the grocery business, and I didn’t share his interest in growing the business. My primary goal in 1964 was to hang out with my friends as much as possible, and to see if I could get Mary Beth Rogers, or any other girl for that matter, to like me. However, with total disregard for my wishes, my dad put me to work. I was checker, sacker, bookkeeper, stock boy, delivery boy, janitor and butcher. I could cut up a chicken in 29 seconds flat, and you could still recognize some of the pieces.

After seven years of twelve-hour Saturdays and working until 7:00PM after school during the week, I had learned more about the grocery business than I ever wanted to know. In 1971, Dad sold the business again, and over the next thirty-seven years I didn’t enter a grocery store unless it was an absolute necessity.

Soon after my marriage in 1973 it became apparent to my wife that I needed to stay out of the kitchen as much as possible. I think it was the burned jello that put her over the edge. We decided that I would be responsible for procuring money for food and that she would select and cook it. I was also placed in charge of food disposal; a task that came naturally for me. To assuage my guilty conscience, I would often help with cleanup,and I would occasionally be in charge of my own meal which usually consisted of nuking a frozen Twinkie in the microwave, but that was about it. I soon learned how many times I had to press “fresh muffin or roll” to heat whatever I wanted at the time. For example, you had to press “fresh muffin or roll” 27 times to warm a plate of left-over spaghetti. I never quite figured out all the other settings and options. If Nancy had allowed me in the kitchen more often, I think I could have become more proficient with the microwave. But why be bitter after all this time?

Having never being adept at leaving well enough alone, after 35 years of marriage I decided to try something new. A few days ago, I was planning a run to Walmart, and noticed a short grocery list on the fridge. Hum…. this would be a great way to earn some brownie points, I thought. I looked over the list; apples, cottage cheese, ground beef, and Rice Krispies. I thought, how hard could it be? I’ll just knock off this list while I’m at Walmart and she will praise me from the rooftops!

I strode confidently into the produce section feeling fully in charge considering the depth of my experience in the grocery business. In Dad’s store, we had apples, oranges, bananas, and lemons. That seemed to be enough choices for his customers. At Walmart, the produce section was larger than Dad’s whole store. There was a display about twenty feet long of just apples! Red Delicious, Yellow Delicious, Granny Smith, Jonagold. The list went on and on. I called Nancy’s cell phone.

“What kind of apples do you want and how many? They have more than one kind of apple here." I said.
“ You aren’t trying to buy groceries, are you?” she said with not a small amount of alarm in her voice.
“Well, yes, I thought I would pick up your list since I was here anyway.”
“Well, get a dozen Jonagolds and go home!” She hung up.

I got the Jonagolds, and stopped to puzzle over some kind of fruit called a “kiwi”. I had never seen one before and decided that it had to be the result of someone’s failed attempt to genetically engineer an edible tennis ball. I wondered if there might be more kiwis in the sporting goods department…. cross-marketing, you know. Undaunted and feeling rather smug over my successful purchase of Jonagold apples, with only one “assist”, I continued to the dairy case.

Next on the list was cottage cheese. What is the deal here?! There was low-fat, no-fat, regular fat, 4% milk-fat, too much fat, small curd, large curd, medium curd and organic. And that was just one brand! I called Nancy’s cell phone.

“What kind of cottage cheese do you want?”
“ I thought I told you to go home.” she said.
“ I’m just trying to help,” I said in the most pitiful voice I could muster.
“ Eight-ounce, small curd, low-fat,” she replied. ( How does she KNOW this stuff??) “Now go home, and I mean it this time.”

I picked up the eight-ounce, small curd, low-fat cottage cheese and proceeded to the cereal aisle. After locating the Rice Krispies, I immediately collared a clerk.

“These prices are mismarked,” I said. “The decimal is in the wrong place. This cereal is marked $3.90. It should be thirty-nine cents”. He looked at me as if I had just asked him to explain the Rieman zeta function in theoretical mathematics.

“The price is correct, sir.” he said after collecting his wits. My dad was "sir" but I didn't get into that.

“No. it can’t be. In my dad’s store in 1969 all cereals were thirty-nine cents except Special K that no one but the rich customers ever bought because it was forty-nine cents,” I explained to the young upstart who obviously had a thing or two to learn about the grocery business.

I decided to give Nancy a call and ask if she had ever had any trouble with improperly marked cereals. Without getting into details of the conversation, let’s just say that I went home without the ground beef.

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