I'm not doing another quote-filled deal. I think my major is ruining my ability to think for myself. Don't get me wrong, turning to really smart people is always good, but even I used to be able to turn a phrase. Now my mind is atrophying through reliance on others. Or maybe I'm just growing up and realizing I'm not as smart as I thought I was in high school. (Really, I had no idea how to write an essay back then. How I'm here today is a mystery.) Lately, I even frequently find myself at a loss for words. So what better way to try to reclaim my expressive abilities than by recounting a thoroughly mundane trip to Macey's?
I love grocery shopping at college. I love it especially when I take people and we go on a "shopping spree." ("Life's not about being happy. Life's about accumulating the most materials goods possible. Especially more than your neighbor has.") I love Macey's. It's this chaotic little food warehouse and whenever I go, I get the impression of some benevolent grocer who stockpiles and hoardes all this food so he can set it out in his store and offer it to the student population of Provo at drastically reduced prices. How I love the Macey's Man. (Or Woman, but I picture him as a guy. Like the Santa Claus of grocery store proprietors. Only, not old. I see him as just past middle-aged, 5'7" maybe, wiry but getting thick around the middle, bald on top of his head, constantly hurrying back and forth in a green apron, stacking boxes and slashing prices. I mentioned this image briefly to my roommate and she gave me a funny look. Maybe it's just me...)
This week, probably to celebrate homecoming (because everything in Provo flows in time to the heartbeat that is BYU campus life), Macey's is having a case lot sale. The flier was the only thing remotely exciting in the mail yesterday. $1.50 drums of oatmeal! $.39 canned vegetables! (What a deal! Canned vegetables contribute squat to your daily nutrition.) A wonderland of even more deeply discounted food! I needed milk. My roommate needed ingredients for her crush's birthday cookies. We sallied forth.
All went well until we hit the checkout line. We got behind an older couple, their carts stacked full of the 4 or 5 cases of canned goods. Shouldn't take that long.
After 15 minutes of negotiating the couples' accounting of the cases and hunting down the correct price codes on the special case lot sale sheet, the cashier finally just had the bagger take all of the cases out of the cart so she could scan each of the cases. The couple dropped a sweet $100 to stock their food storage and I got to spend priceless roommate bonding time as we waited, poking fun at the Provo culture that would put the plastic covers in front of The Globe and Fitness magazines. Scandalous.
I spent twice what I wanted to, but everything I got was essential. Even the Pilsbury casserole and slow cooker cookbook. (You may laugh now, but you wouldn't if you saw those recipes...wow.) As we were leaving, I thought I saw the exact same couple in the next aisle over. But it was just another older couple buying heaps of cases of canned goods.
My roommate asked as we got to my car, "I wonder if they're going to eat it all before they die."
"If not, they'll just leave it to their children."
"Mmm, food storage inheritance. I want to do that."
"Yes. Don't leave them money. Spend it all on canned goods. Your kids will thank you for it. It seems a sound Utah investment."
Until you figure in the fact that you're going to have to drag all of those cans to Missouri...
I also bought 3 Banquet entree dinners. Ooh, I'm pampering myself. $.89 a box. Tonight is the chicken nugget meal: 6 chicken nuggets and a tablespoon each of corn and macaroni and cheese. I'm even going to take it out of the sectioned black tray and put it on a plate and pretend like it's real. The enticing odor is wafting from our monstrosity of a microwave...I must hasten to answer the call. Soon, I will be lost in the rapture of chicken nuggety goodness. Spongey. Processed. Dark meat. Goodness.
2 comments:
Nasty. Don't write menus for a restaurant anytime in the future.
Ah case lot. The time when I was free to frolic along the tops of the mountainous heaps of food. Much like an alpine adventurer. One must be careful to avoid the cavernous cracks along the tide pallets. Many a wanderer have been lost down such a crevase. If those old folks are anything like my friends parents, they don't rotate and they buy things they never plan on eating. I found an instant breakfast in their pantry from... 1984! No kidding. With holy reverence, I broke the seal, untouched for over a decade. The sickly sweet savor of time washed over my senses. It mixed and tasted like the past. Nasty. Instant breakfast has come a long way. If you'll read the ingredients on on you'll see that what they consist of is a crushed multi-vitamin, powdered milk and chocolate. All their touted protein comes solely from the dried milk. How is that a breakfast? Take a vitamin, and drink 2 glasses of chocolate milk. ITS THE SAME FREAKING THING!
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