Last night, I fell asleep to Feist's Lonely Lonely. This song puts me into a melancholy ease. I tried to let go of the unavoidably guarded and scattered feeling that lingered on the surface of me from bagging like the produce stains left on my apron. I tried to wash that off too.
After a series of mindless shifts, I fear becoming this with my entire being when I work too many hours with faceless strangers. Guarded. Scattered. When I fell asleep, I thought of the other kind of relationships developed with time. Friends. Family. New and old. Love began to concentrate together on a small point and I began to energize again.
This world is made up of more than customer service connections.
A new morning woke me and once again I protected myself against losing sincerity and everything else genuine in my life. I can last another 8 hours dealing with mundane superficial crap one must perform upon limited intimacy with unappreciative people.
This new move across country was supposed to be a momentum of collecting passion, love and depth to create more and to feel more and to be more in this world for only the things that mattered in my life. Where does all that go when we don’t invest in something solid? What happens to it when our wasted energy goes flying and distributed among people who come in and out with only surface conversations and occasional recognition? Do my customers take a piece of me each time they leave with groceries?
I grew up in the restaurant business where all we could afford is to build those kinds of relationships with our community. The 5000-sq. foot building in the center of a large shopping center of a middle class suburban city filed in people with suits, ties and white-faced families. They loved my dad; he was the infamous bald Chinese guy who traveled from one side of the restaurant and back again like he was on roller skates. Dad voluntarily held 28-hour work days if possible. The restaurant was not work; the restaurant was life. He spent the days making witty comments, customizing orders for the regulars and devoting every moment to pleasing palettes from that mental menu stored in his clever brain. Dad was the restaurant Renaissance Man. The Man behind the fabulous dishes and delicious aromas, the energy and laughter.
We were the Restaurant Kids. My brother and I were in and out of those swinging kitchen doors, wearing over-sized aprons and struggling to follow behind dad’s fast-paced footsteps. We seated and carefully calculated change for hungry customers with a smile.
Our daily interactions were built upon those little meaningless moments with people in and out every day with nothing deeper to root. When the business closed, there was no more need to smile, to please and delight for the sake of survival. And thus, no purpose nor energy to break through the hard surface barrier. The distinction between restaurant and home is work and rest.
“How’s school?” Mom would ask when she picked us up in front of the vacant building. Two hours late.
“Fine,” we would answer in unison. Mom would make a simple dinner and send us off to do homework, then return to the restaurant. And that was the extent of what bound us, what inevitably built around our life outside of the restaurant. The Restaurant Kids evidently meshed into the same category as customers.
Perhaps as a child, it was ingrained at an early age to truly believe that customers are always right. Perhaps this is why bagging and speaking in customer service tongue comes easy. But no matter how long I do this chit chat, I do not want my life to collect minute by minute with meaningless moments and mundane routine. I want it to be filled with people who matter, people who can grow with me and connect deeper than the transactions that happen at check-out. And perhaps one of these days, those customers will see us more than just baggers - but real humans with the capability for real human connection, or at least to appreciate those faces behind counters, stocking shelves and kitchen doors.
Here's to more appreciation on my part.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Paper or Plastic People
In the same way I've spoken about another article titled, "Plastic or Paper", I ended with the idea of seeing people in these two simple categories. Perhaps it simply means, people that matter about themselves, the earth and its people and people who just don't give a rats butt about it. Perhaps it means people who eat healthy and follow health trends and people who eat the same thing without caring. Perhaps
All these food articles I've been catching up at the cashier's rack during the slow days has got me thinking a lot about the revolution of grocery shopping. No more apron wearing women with make-up, high hears, tight-waist hand-stitched cotton dresses and perfectly curled hair. Cans, boxes, microwave meals and frozen peas are no longer the foods of the elite. It seems, over time, we have evolved back into the time of the farmers and hippies.
Though my ancestors were still off fishing and farming off a port town in faraway China, women in America are beginning to choose items from canned, to fresh.
So for research, I have begun to observe and take mental document on the choices my customers make. For the regulars, I will closely observe their skin clarity, alertness, body shape and clothes to compare with their choice of foods. Do all A-type people eat clean and healthy? Do all slobs inject their bodies with alcohol, sugars, high fatty foods and cheese steaks? Do all people with chaotic wallets and untucked shirts buy microwave dinners and Cheetos?
And over time, I would like to find out what makes healthy people healthy?
All these food articles I've been catching up at the cashier's rack during the slow days has got me thinking a lot about the revolution of grocery shopping. No more apron wearing women with make-up, high hears, tight-waist hand-stitched cotton dresses and perfectly curled hair. Cans, boxes, microwave meals and frozen peas are no longer the foods of the elite. It seems, over time, we have evolved back into the time of the farmers and hippies.
Though my ancestors were still off fishing and farming off a port town in faraway China, women in America are beginning to choose items from canned, to fresh.
So for research, I have begun to observe and take mental document on the choices my customers make. For the regulars, I will closely observe their skin clarity, alertness, body shape and clothes to compare with their choice of foods. Do all A-type people eat clean and healthy? Do all slobs inject their bodies with alcohol, sugars, high fatty foods and cheese steaks? Do all people with chaotic wallets and untucked shirts buy microwave dinners and Cheetos?
And over time, I would like to find out what makes healthy people healthy?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Raw Meat Vengeance
"These damn inconsiderate people!" This immediate greeting took me off guard. From behind the bagging counter popped a surprisingly tall woman with wild blond hair. She continued her monologue while slamming her purchases on the register belt.
"What?! You can't wait a few seconds?!" She made direct eye contact with me, but the level of her voice was obviously directed to the people waiting, or should I say not waiting behind her.
"You people think that just because you're OLD, you can do whatever the hell you please!" This wild-haired woman was well dressed and beautiful, but the vindictive expression pruned on her flawless skin and harsh commentary spewing out from her ruby red lips contradicted my judgment upon first glance.
"You just watch," she rambled on, occasionally turning around to make a face at the oblivious couple next in line as they put items on the belt. "I'm going to remember this when I get old! And I'm going to piss the hell out of you!"
"I don't think they're going to be around when you get old," I wanted to say. But I held back, considering she towered over me like a monument of live flesh, ready to erupt in volcanic explosion at any moment.
As if the $45 worth of boneless ribs on her order emitted a violent energy from its slaughter, the next customers huffed in puffy anger and complaints with no more reason then Wild Hair Lady. The same old man who wasn't able to wait to fill the belt yelled at everyone when the credit card machine didn't process. The credit card machine took vengeance and stopped working for no reason. The angry torch was then passed to the cashier who gnarled at them both when she had to start the transaction over. It required the grumpy old man to slide his card again. That sent him on the next wild spin.
When the slew of curmudgeons slivered away and out the door, I burnt some organic sage to clear the negative air.
"What?! You can't wait a few seconds?!" She made direct eye contact with me, but the level of her voice was obviously directed to the people waiting, or should I say not waiting behind her.
"You people think that just because you're OLD, you can do whatever the hell you please!" This wild-haired woman was well dressed and beautiful, but the vindictive expression pruned on her flawless skin and harsh commentary spewing out from her ruby red lips contradicted my judgment upon first glance.
"You just watch," she rambled on, occasionally turning around to make a face at the oblivious couple next in line as they put items on the belt. "I'm going to remember this when I get old! And I'm going to piss the hell out of you!"
"I don't think they're going to be around when you get old," I wanted to say. But I held back, considering she towered over me like a monument of live flesh, ready to erupt in volcanic explosion at any moment.
As if the $45 worth of boneless ribs on her order emitted a violent energy from its slaughter, the next customers huffed in puffy anger and complaints with no more reason then Wild Hair Lady. The same old man who wasn't able to wait to fill the belt yelled at everyone when the credit card machine didn't process. The credit card machine took vengeance and stopped working for no reason. The angry torch was then passed to the cashier who gnarled at them both when she had to start the transaction over. It required the grumpy old man to slide his card again. That sent him on the next wild spin.
When the slew of curmudgeons slivered away and out the door, I burnt some organic sage to clear the negative air.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Difference Between Men and Women
The following is a brief outline of crazy behaviors noticed from you people out there who shop at my store:
-"Give me crispies!" a sour-smelling woman hollered at the cashier, "And you better not give me any of those dirty old ones like you always do. Crispy new ones I said!"
-A woman caked in a thick layer of white on her face, arms and legs (maybe sunblock, but who knows) approached the counter and began to sanitize all along the sides of the belt, the credit card machine and along the side walls. When she was good and ready, she emptied her basket of things. She stacked ten economy bags of sanitizing wipes and a few tubes of anti-bacterial soap. "Please put each item in a separate bag." One item per bag. (I wish I was kidding.)
-Another woman stood by the door waiting for the rain. She asked customer service to take out her ice-cream from one of the 6 bags. "Please return it to the freezer until I leave. I don't want it to melt." She stared out the window for 45 minutes. When the rain stopped, she asked someone to retrieve the ice cream. She requested two baggers to walk her out: One to carry the umbrella for her hair, and the other to wait by the door for her groceries so she could bring her car over. This woman walked quickly to her car as the bagger struggled to keep up with her hair. No more than 35 feet away, her car was parked at the handicap parking spot.
-I asked a woman, "Would you like a bag for your cheese, ma'am?" She kindly responded, "I wish you people would just stop asking me that! Of course I want a bag!"
-Five blonds walked through the check out (no, this is not the beginning to a riddle) with a basket of items: ground beef, ketchup, buns, pickles, and a few other items for what seemed like a barbeque. The total amount was $100.05, so the first blond paid with her credit card. They stood for a moment and looked at one another. The first blond said, "Can everyone pay me back with cash?" And they looked at one another again. "Well, how much do we pay?" the second blond asked. The third blond handed her friend $25. Another blond girl gave her a $10. The fourth blond asked, "How much is that divided by...?" She counted the blonds, but forgets to include herself. "What's four divided by 100?" And they looked at each other again. Finally, the first blond says, "Ugh! Let's just figure it out later." They all leave in one cluster all flustered from all that thinking. (I wish I was kidding.)
-A woman wants 5 cents rebate for her bag. She buys a single carton of yogurt and demands another 25 cents off for her coupon. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. It says buy 5 and receive money off." She scowls. "Fine! But I get my 5 cent bag rebate!" And leaves with the yogurt in her hand.
-A woman throws old bags at me. I started to fill her purchases and the smell of old shoes linger among those bags as if they were a hundred years old. She bought the usual array of produce and packaged goodness, but among the 7 apples, 3 of them had teeth marks and chunks bitten out. The cashier and I shared a moment.
-A man comes and buys 7 jugs of plain yogurt and 7 jugs of pre-washed grapes. I have seen him twice in two days purchasing the same things with nothing more than "thank you" to say to me.
-A man walked through check out with two boxes from self-serve food. The total cost $79. He pays, thanks me for binding them with rubber bands, denies the bag and runs out the door.
-A man comes in and buys: 7 frozen dinners, 8 jugs of juice, a 6-pack of root beer and 4 bags of chips, thanks me and leaves.
-A man comes in and buys a carton of whey protein, a gallon of milk and a pre-made sandwich. He doesn't need a bag, pays and leaves the store without his receipt or change.
Need I say more?
-"Give me crispies!" a sour-smelling woman hollered at the cashier, "And you better not give me any of those dirty old ones like you always do. Crispy new ones I said!"
-A woman caked in a thick layer of white on her face, arms and legs (maybe sunblock, but who knows) approached the counter and began to sanitize all along the sides of the belt, the credit card machine and along the side walls. When she was good and ready, she emptied her basket of things. She stacked ten economy bags of sanitizing wipes and a few tubes of anti-bacterial soap. "Please put each item in a separate bag." One item per bag. (I wish I was kidding.)
-Another woman stood by the door waiting for the rain. She asked customer service to take out her ice-cream from one of the 6 bags. "Please return it to the freezer until I leave. I don't want it to melt." She stared out the window for 45 minutes. When the rain stopped, she asked someone to retrieve the ice cream. She requested two baggers to walk her out: One to carry the umbrella for her hair, and the other to wait by the door for her groceries so she could bring her car over. This woman walked quickly to her car as the bagger struggled to keep up with her hair. No more than 35 feet away, her car was parked at the handicap parking spot.
-I asked a woman, "Would you like a bag for your cheese, ma'am?" She kindly responded, "I wish you people would just stop asking me that! Of course I want a bag!"
-Five blonds walked through the check out (no, this is not the beginning to a riddle) with a basket of items: ground beef, ketchup, buns, pickles, and a few other items for what seemed like a barbeque. The total amount was $100.05, so the first blond paid with her credit card. They stood for a moment and looked at one another. The first blond said, "Can everyone pay me back with cash?" And they looked at one another again. "Well, how much do we pay?" the second blond asked. The third blond handed her friend $25. Another blond girl gave her a $10. The fourth blond asked, "How much is that divided by...?" She counted the blonds, but forgets to include herself. "What's four divided by 100?" And they looked at each other again. Finally, the first blond says, "Ugh! Let's just figure it out later." They all leave in one cluster all flustered from all that thinking. (I wish I was kidding.)
-A woman wants 5 cents rebate for her bag. She buys a single carton of yogurt and demands another 25 cents off for her coupon. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. It says buy 5 and receive money off." She scowls. "Fine! But I get my 5 cent bag rebate!" And leaves with the yogurt in her hand.
-A woman throws old bags at me. I started to fill her purchases and the smell of old shoes linger among those bags as if they were a hundred years old. She bought the usual array of produce and packaged goodness, but among the 7 apples, 3 of them had teeth marks and chunks bitten out. The cashier and I shared a moment.
-A man comes and buys 7 jugs of plain yogurt and 7 jugs of pre-washed grapes. I have seen him twice in two days purchasing the same things with nothing more than "thank you" to say to me.
-A man walked through check out with two boxes from self-serve food. The total cost $79. He pays, thanks me for binding them with rubber bands, denies the bag and runs out the door.
-A man comes in and buys: 7 frozen dinners, 8 jugs of juice, a 6-pack of root beer and 4 bags of chips, thanks me and leaves.
-A man comes in and buys a carton of whey protein, a gallon of milk and a pre-made sandwich. He doesn't need a bag, pays and leaves the store without his receipt or change.
Need I say more?
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Grocery Art
Have you ever watched an efficient cashier scan and punch in numbers in such swift movement that it looks like a dance? Since I am learning to bag without straining my shoulder and back, I closely observed my cashier today. If you notice, they move quick and light from one side of the belt to the other with a slight twist, running the objects across the scanner as their brains work fast in a nonchalant expression to put their customers at ease. The good ones are remarkable.
Left to right.
Right to left.
One slide to the other.
The customer to cashier to bagger transfer is like the torch relay seen on the Olympics. From shelf, to cart, to belt, to bag. One by one, the items dance in one smooth direction in varying rhythm and weight. The cabbage and lettuce heads do their pirouettes. The eggs slide across gently in dozens. Fuzzy peaches, apples and navels struggle to stay in ripped plastic bags. Giggling grapes detach from their vines like escape artists. The spin and tumble of cereal boxes rub their bottoms along the edge followed by the awkward roll of the goofy watermelon. Bags of pasta, tiny chap sticks, cellophane wrapped gift cards, hard to scan berry cartons and vitamin bottles all carrying a different dignity as they move across the counter stage, posing ever so slightly until the beep. Light. Goofy. Rude. Awkward. Stubborn. Kind. Like their customers. Like an art in dance form.
If you think you are JUST buying groceries, think again.
Left to right.
Right to left.
One slide to the other.
The customer to cashier to bagger transfer is like the torch relay seen on the Olympics. From shelf, to cart, to belt, to bag. One by one, the items dance in one smooth direction in varying rhythm and weight. The cabbage and lettuce heads do their pirouettes. The eggs slide across gently in dozens. Fuzzy peaches, apples and navels struggle to stay in ripped plastic bags. Giggling grapes detach from their vines like escape artists. The spin and tumble of cereal boxes rub their bottoms along the edge followed by the awkward roll of the goofy watermelon. Bags of pasta, tiny chap sticks, cellophane wrapped gift cards, hard to scan berry cartons and vitamin bottles all carrying a different dignity as they move across the counter stage, posing ever so slightly until the beep. Light. Goofy. Rude. Awkward. Stubborn. Kind. Like their customers. Like an art in dance form.
If you think you are JUST buying groceries, think again.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Break Minutes
30-minute: I like the peace at this little picnic table near the landscape of scattered purple and pink flowers planted around the parking lot.
25-minute: As baggers, we are given the freedom of two breaks for every 8-hour shift: one half hour, and the other fifteen minutes to eat, to stretch, to socialize, or veg on the Internet or on-playing television in the break room.
5-minute: After I stretched at the humdrum sound of an ongoing weed wacker, I sat on the curbside and watched a man shave away the poked out branches in his front garden. He was meticulous. I'm assuming he has been doing this for quite a while since he was only three quarters complete and just this last section took near 20-minutes. When he finished, the bush walled off the street in a soft curved rectangle; it took the same shape of the top of his head. Next to this house, overgrown shrubs protrude wildly. Nature and time took more than twice as long to shape this magnificent creation. Time is funny and how we choose to spend it. Would I take hours to shape a shrub, or let it grow and take my minutes elsewhere? Because in the end, isn't it all the same?
4-minute: I'm still sitting on the curb side of this supermarket parking lot as the last of my break minutes shave away like those branches falling to the ground. I'm sitting here watching people come in and out with their shopping lists and frantic attitude of "I need" for items of no significance but pure indulgence. An entitled attitude to get their needs satisfied fast even if it may sacrifice the connections and interactions of the faceless serving them.
3-minute: Time. This reminded me of the tall man that irritably waited for the lady in front to return with her forgotten item. He kept shaking his head and cursed at her under his breath. When his turn opened up, he bellowed, "I was about to leave. My time is far too valuable to be wasted on waiting." I nodded at him and smiled my fake smile to pass the time.
2-minute: Time. I continue to watch the people with the right of way to enter and I ask, "What's the point?" What's the point to ALL this? And it may take me the rest of my short-lived moment of peace to get up and see the world otherwise, so I can return with a smile without falling into a deep emptiness and yell at the faceless creatures of greed, "WHAT'S THE POINT!"
1-minute: Time. How do we choose to make great use of it? As I stand behind the booth, my time is filled like the bags - packed from one insignificant object to another, after another and another. My time is challenged to please pack light,
to please pack with an even weight,
to damnnit to pack without crushing,
without melting,
without freezing the other insignificant objects,
and I pack from one insignificant object to another,
after another and another,
minute by minute,
day by day -
where is my time shaving off to shape?
25-minute: As baggers, we are given the freedom of two breaks for every 8-hour shift: one half hour, and the other fifteen minutes to eat, to stretch, to socialize, or veg on the Internet or on-playing television in the break room.
5-minute: After I stretched at the humdrum sound of an ongoing weed wacker, I sat on the curbside and watched a man shave away the poked out branches in his front garden. He was meticulous. I'm assuming he has been doing this for quite a while since he was only three quarters complete and just this last section took near 20-minutes. When he finished, the bush walled off the street in a soft curved rectangle; it took the same shape of the top of his head. Next to this house, overgrown shrubs protrude wildly. Nature and time took more than twice as long to shape this magnificent creation. Time is funny and how we choose to spend it. Would I take hours to shape a shrub, or let it grow and take my minutes elsewhere? Because in the end, isn't it all the same?
4-minute: I'm still sitting on the curb side of this supermarket parking lot as the last of my break minutes shave away like those branches falling to the ground. I'm sitting here watching people come in and out with their shopping lists and frantic attitude of "I need" for items of no significance but pure indulgence. An entitled attitude to get their needs satisfied fast even if it may sacrifice the connections and interactions of the faceless serving them.
3-minute: Time. This reminded me of the tall man that irritably waited for the lady in front to return with her forgotten item. He kept shaking his head and cursed at her under his breath. When his turn opened up, he bellowed, "I was about to leave. My time is far too valuable to be wasted on waiting." I nodded at him and smiled my fake smile to pass the time.
2-minute: Time. I continue to watch the people with the right of way to enter and I ask, "What's the point?" What's the point to ALL this? And it may take me the rest of my short-lived moment of peace to get up and see the world otherwise, so I can return with a smile without falling into a deep emptiness and yell at the faceless creatures of greed, "WHAT'S THE POINT!"
1-minute: Time. How do we choose to make great use of it? As I stand behind the booth, my time is filled like the bags - packed from one insignificant object to another, after another and another. My time is challenged to please pack light,
to please pack with an even weight,
to damnnit to pack without crushing,
without melting,
without freezing the other insignificant objects,
and I pack from one insignificant object to another,
after another and another,
minute by minute,
day by day -
where is my time shaving off to shape?
Yielding to Baggers
As I had mentioned before, there is not a neighborhood without streets converging to what is called roundabouts, or rotaries. It is literally a giant circular formation paved around a man-made landscape of trees or bushes. The right way to master the art of rotaries is to to yield to on-coming cars until a break, ease into the movement naturally and exit when appropriate.
Purpose of rotaries
There's a hierarchy in roundabouts. First, you are a yielder and then with time and seniority, you earn the right of way. If only life can be so determined and expected. But in life, one may not necessarily have the chances to live out both. You are either a person that yields, or a person with the right of way. Some people are born into it and some people move toward it. Not necessarily in that order.
Baggers are definitely yielders, waiting one day to hold the prestige of cashier.
One day, one day.
Purpose of rotaries
There's a hierarchy in roundabouts. First, you are a yielder and then with time and seniority, you earn the right of way. If only life can be so determined and expected. But in life, one may not necessarily have the chances to live out both. You are either a person that yields, or a person with the right of way. Some people are born into it and some people move toward it. Not necessarily in that order.
Baggers are definitely yielders, waiting one day to hold the prestige of cashier.
One day, one day.
Friday, March 18, 2011
For Hire as Hire
A frantic mother offered me a babysitting job today after I calmed her toddler down while filling her canvas bags with jars and jars of processed baby food and other prepackaged delicacies. The 3-year old was grabbing for rubber bands and trying to eat them, then screaming at the top of his lungs when I caught it just in time before it stopped him from making noise for the rest of his dear life. He didn't like that. He continued at a pitch that was death to the ears. To put the wretched pain to a halt without taping his drooling mouth shut and getting sent to jail, I teased him and made stupid faces. He stopped and stared and tried to choke me to death with his dirty little hands in shrieking laughter. Of course, I played along with his nonsensical game. When bags were packed and they were ready to go, he reached out his grubby little hands and tried to give me a hug and kiss with his cheddar cheese breath and wet lips. As unappealing it may sound, I let him. As much I want to say this kid needs a good spanking, my weakness for kids is pathetic.
I took her business card and slipped it in my apron.
I took her business card and slipped it in my apron.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Shopping List
Inspired by another artist, I collected shopping lists that were left in carts, baskets and found on the floor.
Here are a few examples. Can you guess which belonged to you? What were they making?
List 1
bananas
sour cream
2 limes
broccoli
apple juice
monterey jack chedder
basmati rice
tortilla
sandwich flank steak
List 2
Rice Milk
Carrots
Potatos (spelled wrong)
Juice
Basmati Rice
Gluten-Free Muffins
? pork chops
Goat Yogurt
taco
List 3
Canine t/d
regular
biggest bag -or 3 small bags
List 4
milk
pita
chicken
steak Tips
kleenex
vegetables - carrot, broccoli
choc. chips
List 5
porky
2work
eeyx
vablyarkd
xeed
macroon
kopred + boler
zapkuayr
2 rice
nue
searndsincellerour fiery
ybeter
List 6
Brc
chicken salad
beet salad
burritoes
goat dream
blueberry muffin
List 7
Asparagus
Green beans
cabbage
purple cabbage
carrots celery
corn
cucumber
egg plant
Dill
Fennel
russet potatoes
spinach
yam
List 7
cucumber
7 small cucumbers
3 cups lowfat yogurt
1.25 cup mint leaves
3 radishes
1 cup chicken stock
cazpacho
red wine vinegar
6 large potatoes
1.5 cup canned tomato juice
2 red peppers
2 large shallots
2 cucumbers
1.5 cup dill
List 8
CVS - tampons, wipes and noxema
WF - fruits, kombucha, something healthy!!
DON'T BUY JUNK!!!! DETOX!!! NO REGRETS!!!
Here are a few examples. Can you guess which belonged to you? What were they making?
List 1
bananas
sour cream
2 limes
broccoli
apple juice
monterey jack chedder
basmati rice
tortilla
sandwich flank steak
List 2
Rice Milk
Carrots
Potatos (spelled wrong)
Juice
Basmati Rice
Gluten-Free Muffins
? pork chops
Goat Yogurt
taco
List 3
Canine t/d
regular
biggest bag -or 3 small bags
List 4
milk
pita
chicken
steak Tips
kleenex
vegetables - carrot, broccoli
choc. chips
List 5
porky
2work
eeyx
vablyarkd
xeed
macroon
kopred + boler
zapkuayr
2 rice
nue
searndsincellerour fiery
ybeter
List 6
Brc
chicken salad
beet salad
burritoes
goat dream
blueberry muffin
List 7
Asparagus
Green beans
cabbage
purple cabbage
carrots celery
corn
cucumber
egg plant
Dill
Fennel
russet potatoes
spinach
yam
List 7
cucumber
7 small cucumbers
3 cups lowfat yogurt
1.25 cup mint leaves
3 radishes
1 cup chicken stock
cazpacho
red wine vinegar
6 large potatoes
1.5 cup canned tomato juice
2 red peppers
2 large shallots
2 cucumbers
1.5 cup dill
List 8
CVS - tampons, wipes and noxema
WF - fruits, kombucha, something healthy!!
DON'T BUY JUNK!!!! DETOX!!! NO REGRETS!!!
Shopping Cart Wii
I had that nightmare again last night. I was caught in a video game, controlled by some big black-haired gender unspecified person with big giant hands. S/he controlled my actions and sent me on another wild goose chase in search of baskets and shopping carts with broken, squeaky wheels whilst dodging inconsiderate drivers in massive Hummers. Oh wait, that really happened...
In order for customers to follow the "Please return shopping cart" procedure, the Nintendo gaming club should invent a game where the sweaty bag girl (or however you recreated yourself to be) runs around like a slave trying to return all the hard-to-maneuver shopping baskets from all corners of the parking lot. Maybe they will appreciate how much we do and how much we hate this part of the job. I love it most when those people who call themselves "environmentally-conscious" jam those things over the supermarket landscape of flowers and grassy knolls. And don't think we can't see you either. We see everything. Yes, everything. It gets worse on rainy days. Even the kindest people would rather get points docked at heaven's gate, then god-for-bid walk 300 feet to return the cart to the shed conveniently built in the center of the lot.
Today was a particularly rainy day. Carts were scattered everywhere. I tried to avoid going outside, waiting for someone younger and with more testosterone, but the Head asked me to collect carts since none were lined where they should be. Big Head said s/he would come by and help when a moment is freed. Yeah, that is what they always say, but what they are really thinking is, "When I get a moment, I will come help out you do some crappy-ass work that I would never do again. Yeah right. I'll find a way to keep busy."
Rain is fine by me. I like rain, especially when it's that Portland/Seattle drizzle. A bit of wind and chill is fine too. But here on THIS coast, the rain comes down in drowning buckets. One moment it's bright and sunny and everyone is happy, and the next, it crashes down on you as soon as you lock your rain slicker and keys in the car.
So far, I can't manage to push more than three carts in one stubborn stack in the direction I want without hitting a car while doing it. If you have suggestions, please leave them in a comment below.
Thank you and please come back again.
In order for customers to follow the "Please return shopping cart" procedure, the Nintendo gaming club should invent a game where the sweaty bag girl (or however you recreated yourself to be) runs around like a slave trying to return all the hard-to-maneuver shopping baskets from all corners of the parking lot. Maybe they will appreciate how much we do and how much we hate this part of the job. I love it most when those people who call themselves "environmentally-conscious" jam those things over the supermarket landscape of flowers and grassy knolls. And don't think we can't see you either. We see everything. Yes, everything. It gets worse on rainy days. Even the kindest people would rather get points docked at heaven's gate, then god-for-bid walk 300 feet to return the cart to the shed conveniently built in the center of the lot.
Today was a particularly rainy day. Carts were scattered everywhere. I tried to avoid going outside, waiting for someone younger and with more testosterone, but the Head asked me to collect carts since none were lined where they should be. Big Head said s/he would come by and help when a moment is freed. Yeah, that is what they always say, but what they are really thinking is, "When I get a moment, I will come help out you do some crappy-ass work that I would never do again. Yeah right. I'll find a way to keep busy."
Rain is fine by me. I like rain, especially when it's that Portland/Seattle drizzle. A bit of wind and chill is fine too. But here on THIS coast, the rain comes down in drowning buckets. One moment it's bright and sunny and everyone is happy, and the next, it crashes down on you as soon as you lock your rain slicker and keys in the car.
So far, I can't manage to push more than three carts in one stubborn stack in the direction I want without hitting a car while doing it. If you have suggestions, please leave them in a comment below.
Thank you and please come back again.
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