On Being a Good Shopper...

(Disclaimer: Yes, I realize that I have written several times about the grocery store. I actually thought about not writing this, because I didn't want people to start thinking of me as the mom who writes about the grocery store all the time. But the reality is, I have three kids and a husband who need to eat, and I have two kids still in diapers. Like it or not, the grocery store is a big part of my life. Yes, I find that sad, too. Fortunately for me, the grocery store is also right next to the liquor store).

So, I really try to be a good shopper. Really, I do. I don't use the express lane if I have more than 15 items. OK, fine, sometimes 16, but that's it. Although sometimes I do legitimately miscount and find that I have 17 or 18, but that's an honest mistake, so its forgiven, right? I smile at people even when I don't really feel like it. I engage in some degree of small talk with the cashiers, even when I wish they would just ring up my groceries and not ask me if I'm buying Tylenol because I have a headache (Nope. Cramps. Want me to tell you more about that?), or if the kids get their red hair from my husband (Nope. Mailman. Or maybe the UPS guy. Who can keep track?).  I don't leave my cart in the middle of the aisle--well, unless there are glass jars on the shelves at O's eye level--then I figure blocking the aisle is preferable to our fellow shoppers having to dodge flying shards of glass.

I even follow the shopping cart rules--well, OK sometimes B rides in the back, but he never, ever stands up back there. Not for very long, anyway. I even put my cart back in the little cart house--well, assuming we're not parked half a mile away from the cart house, and  the kids aren't already strapped into their car seats. I mean, people have actually gotten arrested for child endangerment for leaving their kids in the car while they returned their cart. Sorry, but if comes down to kids or carts, I'm choosing kids.

My point is, I do try. And obviously, the people at our grocery store know this, since if you'll recall, I was personally selected to be a member of the elite Manager's Club at our store.  But yesterday, I'm thinking maybe they forgot that I'm a member of the elite Manager's Club. I had taken B and O to the store, and we were checking out, when B was clearly getting restless. O was in the cart, but of course I picked the cart with the seat belt that doesn't work. The very talkative cashier is handing me my receipt as B decides to push the cart, with O in it but not strapped in, away from the cash register and into the Muppets DVD display. The display tips over. The cart, fortunately, does not. Several Muppets DVDs are on the floor, but most are still at least halfway in the cardboard display, which is kind of dented and leaning precariously on one side.

"Oh God" the cashier says as she rolls her eyes. I smile, say thank you, and put out my hand, thinking she will hand me my receipt, since obviously I need to go. Now. B backs the cart out of the DVD display. O is still in it, but I'm thinking not for long. The lady is beginning her spiel. I know this spiel, because I hear it every time I am here. Thank customer by name, tell customer how many gas points she has, tell customer how many bonus point she has. Hey, I have an idea for another one. How about, "assume customer has half a clue and can actually read all of this off of her own damn receipt when she gets home".

"Thank you Mrs...uh, lets see.." she is staring at my receipt, stuck on the part where she's supposed to thank me by name.
"Its OK, thanks, but I really have to go", I tell her. She ignores me and finds my last name. B is now pushing the cart and O toward the exit. "Lets see, you have...:" She is looking to see how many gas points I have.
"Its OK. I can read it", I tell her with a smile, "I really need to go now."
She ignores me. She happily tells me how many gas points I have, then looks at me expectantly, as if she has just given me a gift, and I'm supposed to thank her. I think she may be waiting for me to hug her. I want to remind her that I did spend a ridiculous amount of money on groceries, after all, to get those gas points.
She is still not handing over the receipt.
B narrowly avoids pushing the cart into an elderly shopper.
"It looks like you have..." She is obviously not going to stop until she also tells me how many bonus points I have.
I contemplate grabbing the receipt out of her hand. I am no longer smiling.
B still has a ways to go before he reaches the exit, but I cannot believe that she is holding me and my receipt hostage while my three-year-old pushes my unrestrained one-year-old away in a shopping cart. She already saw what he could do to a DVD display. Stacks of cookies and glass bottles of iced tea are now in his path. She ain't seen nothing yet.

Finally, she finds the information she is looking for on my receipt, and tells me how many reward points I have. Like I give a soon to be flying fig newton. I grab the receipt and catch up with B and O just before B rams the shopping cart into the back of some unsuspecting shopper.

I had planned to pick up the DVD display, but in my haste to catch up with B and O, I didn't have a chance. I decide I really don't care.

And then, from behind me, I hear the cashier's voice loudly say, " Um, excuse me? The Muppets have a little problem back here".

She is clearly talking to me.  I'm thinking that whatever problem the Muppets have is nothing compared to the one she's going to have if I have to turn this shopping cart-with one unrestrained child and another now hanging illegally onto the side--around. I contemplate doing just that, but since I suddenly have an incredibly strong desire to throw something at her, I decide it's probably better to just keep walking. As we walk to the car, I fantasize about telling her exactly where she can put Kermit and Miss Piggy.

I also want to ask her if she knows who I am. After all, I am a  member of the elite Manager's Club. And they don't just hand those memberships out to anyone. You have to really be someone.

Someone who spends way too much time and money at this store. Someone who just left Kermit and Miss Piggy laying on the floor, without even offering them a hand up. Like I give a frog's leg.

Someone who's going to start having her groceries delivered to her home. Very, very soon.