I feel obliged to inform you, the reader, that this is the first time I’ve ever posted anything on a blog site. I also feel it is needless to say the posts will neither go unblemished nor be without faults. Am I asking for the usual requests of forgiveness and patience? No, I am not. Not only would that be somewhat self-serving, but would shift this blog away from its goal. Keep in mind, this blog is not for me, it’s for you. If you have already found yourself laughing, then you a) guessed it, and b) are my kind of people. That last statement was a blatant lie. And, since I’m not into that, let’s start this expedition out on the right footing, shall we? It’s all about me and my journeys on your behalf! Yes, the people who dare no longer leave their homes because they’ve seen the outside world and it’s not for them. I shall venture forth for your sake to remind you why you have chosen to remain domicile bound. Through my adventures, and the news networks of your choice, your justification to view the world from the safety of your couch will be vindicated. Think of this more as a peregrination than an odyssey and you’ll be alright. One that tells you what happens when an introvert actually does interact with others and, perhaps, give some insights through abstract musings. The tales may tarry back and forth from one memory to the next, but it will always land back on the perspective of an introvert.
Let’s start with today, because that’s what’s fresh in my mind, and then we can go from there. I walk. A lot. I find reasons to go outside because there is this appliance in my home that makes more noise than artillery practice at the local military training facility. It’s supposed to do its job silently, but the refrigerator’s compressor seems to have gone out and there is no urgency from those who are responsible for replacing it to buy a new one. Since my headache is greater than my desire to remain indoors, I determine it’s time to get away from the cause. So, I decided I should go to the grocery store to buy something…anything. Headphones on (by donning headphones, I have indicated to the rest of the world I have no desire to talk), backpack grabbed, watch that yells at me if I don’t walk…or breath…or stand is charged and placed on my wrist, and my phone with my escape music is placed in my back pocket. All things are set, and I step outside the door into the known. The walk to said store was uneventful. Just how it’s supposed to be. At the store, I find the carry basket and place a limited quantity of groceries in the vessel keeping in mind there is only so much I want to carry home in my backpack. All things are going as planned until I arrive at the checkout counter. This is where the mayhem begins. There are a total of two clerks at the stations where you must navigate prior to leaving. In other words, where I must actually pay for the groceries. I think I should mention, it is rush hour at the market. Yet only two clerks exist. And not that I use them, but there are no self-check-out lines available. Period. That’s still not the problem. I have come to expect hinderances such as these anymore. Between the person in front of me, also with a limited number of groceries, and the clerk scanning her purchases, I have been left rather frazzled. It wasn’t the fact that the clerk was moving slower than molasses in January, as much as she felt obligated to have an in-depth conversation with the purchaser regarding how each item could be used differently than what its purchase purpose was. Guess how the clerk knew what each item was for. That’s correct, she asked. Suddenly the individual doing the buying realized that one of the items was markedly more expensive than she had accounted for and demanded a recheck of the price. Nope, the price was right. Now she did not want that item, nor did she want several other items because they went with that item, so the clerk…still talking about other uses and the price differentiation…had to uncheck three extra pieces that had already been accounted for in the total tally. Aaaaaargh!!! Now I start looking at the other line to see if that may be a better fit for me. Unfortunately, the person in that line had a rather full cart, so I weighed this line as the lesser of the two evils and stayed. Mistake you say? Not really. The person in the other line was even slower than this clerk. When it came to packing the items from the cart into the bags, he didn’t want his clerk to pack his bags for him so he was doing that himself. Just when I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel, the consumer in front of me lets me know it was actually a train. She abruptly “remembers” that she has a bottle of milk that she neglected to place on the conveyor belt still in the top portion of her cart. Now why the clerk didn’t notice that I’ll never know for certain. MAYBE it was because she was so involved in discussing alternate uses for the items on the belt that she failed to realize there were items remaining in the cart? Maybe? Regardless, there is yet another item that needs to be rung-up and added to that which was already totaled. Oh! And I almost forgot to mention, the other customer had an older glass container that once held milk that needs to be redeemed. This was in the bag that she had brought to pack the groceries (BTW, I have no problems with bringing your own bags for groceries). As she produced the bottle, it became apparent not only had she neglected to rinse it out, but it still had some milk product in it. This caused the clerk some hesitation in accepting the item. Apparently, moldy bottles still containing milk should not be turned in for redemption value. At this point I turn around in frustration thinking I should have gotten in the other line, only to realize that person is still packing his sacks at the end of the other station. I also realize there is a rather large line behind me, and I am not the only one who is frustrated with the scenario playing out in front of me. I hear one of the patrons exclaim, “Doesn’t she realize there’s a line here?” Whether she was talking about the customer or the clerk, I do not know. To which I replied in an explicative. Then the clerk has the audacity to suggest I place my items on the belt. Because I’m still thinking about jumping lines, I suggest I might not want to do that, which seems to have confused the clerk. My guess is that wouldn’t take much. All this and when it’s time to pay, you’d think the one holding up this venture would have had her wallet and card ready to go. You’d think fifteen minutes for four items would be plenty of time to get that card out and have it shoved into the machine. You’d think, but you’d be wrong. FINALLY, it gets to be my turn to purchase the three items in my handbasket only for a third clerk to appear from the shadows and assist the person behind me. Growl!!! I buy my stuff and fill my backpack in a matter of seconds much to the relief of the other customers. All the while, the person in front of me is still at the back end of the counter reviewing her items and comparing them to the receipt. You didn’t think for one moment that was not going to happen, did you? I head out of the store after unsuccessfully attempting to use the hand sanitizer they have allegedly supplied for my convenience. Thankfully, I have my own. After I use my wipe, I turn my headphones on and blissfully slip back into my escape music. As I’m walking through the parking lot, I notice that the person who assisted in causing me grief has made it out of the store. She is wandering around the parking lot, still looking at her receipt, and oblivious to the cars trying to drive around her. I hope she makes it home. More importantly, I hope she doesn’t cause an accident. The walk home was similar to the walk there, joyfully uneventful. As I enter the homestead, I realize the noise which drove me away is still just as loud as ever. But after this last trip, I dared not venture out for the rest of the evening. To assist in dampening the noise, I went to my bedroom and shut the door. Apparently, that’s where I belong and that’s where I should stay. For now, at least.
A Sop's Foibles 