The groceries play games with me, like hide and seek, or Survivor. My buggy blocks the aisles…people curse me. Some utter ridicule. Others snarl. Especially ‘Her,’ the Island Gossip. She stalks me relentlessly.
Today I wander aimlessly, seeking instant gratification. The pickles are perched near the raisins, the cereals next to obscure baking components. I once asked management to provide guides to help men locate things. They’re still laughing.
Product ingredients and expiration dates baffle me. Vendors are duplicitous. They crouch behind counters, laughing uncontrollably at unwary shoppers. Reading and understanding labels requires magnifying glasses and chemistry books. I also suggested they be available at the door. For that proposal the Grocery Goons forcibly removed me from the premises. The Salvation Army now uses the ‘Suggestions’ box.
Men don’t have shopping genes. They hover between the aisles for hours with vacuous faces, long lists, grim expressions and empty carts. ‘No Loitering’ signs are everywhere. They threaten arrest to violators. It’s a comedy hour… admission should be charged to watch men shop. I now ask for directions.
Today I ask a stock boy. He points to Aisle 6. “Aisle 6? Oh no! You sure?” He nods. I cringe, knowing Aisle 6 is the adult hygiene aisle. It’s where Kaopectate conspires with Fiber-con, where diapers dodge depilatories and Castor Oil cooks up terrorist tactics with Prep H.
Aisle 6 is a dead-end street. It wrecks reputations. It’s avoided like a third wife. Spasms convulse me when I pass by. Invariably the loudspeaker announces, “Customer needs assistance on Aisle 6!” Being seen anywhere near Aisle 6 engenders island gossip.
People get weird when shopping on Aisle 6. It’s usually desolate. Embarrassment is the foremost fear factor. Nobody wants to be seen caressing KY, analyzing the goodness of Gas-X or examining the merits of Metamucil, as helpful as they all might be. God forbid they are seen purchasing such contraband. So what do they do? They pretend, that’s what.
They stroll by in slow motion, looking lost or disconnected. When no one’s looking, they amble down the aisle, sauntering with the preoccupied air of a detached tourist who’s lost. They’re terrified. Their looks are a poor disguise.
They glance both ways, seize the item, and quickly conceal the evidence. It lies camouflaged beneath the cauliflower. Then they meander out as if nothing happened. A pretty slick maneuver.
Anyway, it’s my turn on Aisle 6. I put on sunglasses and approach it with caution and trepidation. I double-check to see if I’m spotted. So far, so good. Safe, I think. I take a big breath and grab the article. Instantly a female voice calls my name. O, Excrement, I exclaim (well, something similar, anyway). It’s ‘Her’ again. Things turn ugly fast.
In shock, I drop the ‘thing.’ It bounces twice, lands at her feet. She picks it up. “You dropped this,” she says, grinning. She slowly examines it. I shrivel. Then she looks at me and says, “Really?.....You? Hmmmmm…Interesting.” I’m mortified. I didn’t plan to divulge personal secrets today.
“It’s for a friend,” I stammer. It’s a weak lie. She hands it to me and says, “Of course it is. Real men like you don’t need this.” But the smirk gives her away. She knows, I know, and soon the entire island will know. I’m toast.
Her goodbye is more snicker than smile. I hide my purchase beneath bananas. Suddenly, a brainstorm. I snatch a box from the shelf and get in line behind her. As she checks out, I shout loudly, “You dropped this.” I hold up a box of Depends. Everyone looks. Cashiers giggle. Shoppers laugh. She glares. I gloat. The noose fits nicely around her neck.
Tomorrow the island won’t resonate with my secret purchase from Aisle 6. But as for her, well,… relationships with men will certainly be harder to come by.
Sometimes shopping has its moments…even for men!
Bud Hearn
June 16, 2011
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