April 27, 2005

Grocery shopping far from jolly time

By
Herald Editor

      I know this will upset the Jolly Green Giant, but I hate grocery shopping.
      My beef isn't just with frozen peas, or the meat department either. The baking aisle, produce, dairy - even the mythical spot where capers are sold - all are culpable goods and wares. You stop off for bread and milk and leave with only part of your soul. The only question: do you want that in paper or plastic, sir?
      Grocery shopping is one of those adulthood chores done with great begrudging. Even a masochist would find examining multiple sour cream expiration dates an unpleasant way to spend Saturday afternoon.
      However, the real pain starts with a list.
      Call me obtuse, or simply a guy, but I need grocery guidance. If you want a can of diced not chopped tomatoes, put it in writing, along with the GPS coordinates in the appropriate aisle. However, if you only verbally request a can of diced not chopped tomatoes, I'll bring back a jar of Goober Grape guaranteed.
      - She: "Oh, could you also pick up an 8 oz package of mascarpone. You'll find it in the cheese section, next to the deli, right before the bakery donut case. Now it might come in a square block or a round tub; you want the tub, but only if it's Mamma Leons, otherwise get the square block. Thanks, honey.
      - Me: Yep. (hangs up cell phone). Mmmm ... donut.
      Like mittens on a string, the grocery list ensures that the balsamic vinegar and I both come home. Although the risk/reward of going off list for pickled ring bologna is a foregone conclusion.
      Locale can ease the pain of grocery getting. A mom and pop corner store with creaky wood floors still conjures up banana bike seats and brittle baseball card gum. However, it is not a wave of nostalgia that hits when I walk into a 200,000 square-foot supermarket. You go into one of these places for a toothbrush and come out two hours later a $150 lighter and wearing uncomfortable new shoes.
      Each year I grow more curmudgeonly about pushing wobbly wheel carts through Dante's Inferno of canned goods and tube socks. Once upon a time, however, love conquered all - even grocery shopping. As newlyweds, my bride and I could barely afford the sales tax on Ramen Noodles. Yet we strolled hand in hand down the aisles; for better or for worse than canned Treet.
      Twelve years later, my bride and I are still hand in hand; arm wrestling over who gets stuck grocery shopping. I often take a dive if I know Pop-Tarts are on sale.
      However, even the frivolity of hydrogenated oil wears off by the time I reach frozen foods. After all, no one gets their jollies shopping for sweet peas - so give the perma-grin a rest big guy.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com