Housework: May 2008 Archives

Somewhere over the rainbow

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I walked into a Dierbergs, a locally-owned grocery store here, for the first time in my life yesterday. I recently stopped buying Trader Joe's meat as Chris and I are very particular about cuts of meat and I'm just not happy with the selection TJ's offers. I hate having to go to a frillion places to get one week's worth of groceries. The Schnucks (another locally-owned market) off of Loughborough has a great butcher, but I don't want to drive back and forth between two interstates. So I stopped into Dierbergs to check out their meat.


Their produce sparkled like diamonds. The kids and I were in such awe that passerby must have thought that we were urchins who'd never set foot inside a grocery store before. Their bell peppers? They were meticulously arranged so that all their little butts were pointing outwards. I am freak about my food and we are instant BFFs if you order your kitchen items with a dash of OCD. There wasn't a withered piece of produce in the bunch; there's always a suspicious bag of grapes or a browned apple in the mix but not at this store. I like to touch, smell, and feel up my produce, not unlike foreplay, before I place it in my cart. It seemed pointless to do it here. They had everything categorized. There was a giant ORGANIC sign marking all the naturally grown products. I wish Schnucks organized their organics as thoughtfully. As I only popped in for meat - and OMG those cuts were SMOKIN' - I didn't go through the whole store but I'm sure that the aisles were paved with tiles made from crushed unicorn horns and that there was a pot of gold in the last aisle. We briefly considered erecting a tent in the cereal aisle and just like, live there for ever.

When we approached the register there was - GET THIS - a bagger waiting at the end of the conveyor belt. In some other stores, even when business is slow, I have to practically shake down a cashier to get a bagger. And when one isn't available there's this awkward moment, you know, when you attempt to bag your groceries and you try to hide how you bag them so the cashier doesn't glance over and roll their eyes. You stand there like an unwelcome houseguest as your groceries accumulate at the end of the conveyor belt, like should ... should I start bagging this? No? Is that a bagger over there? Is he...he's coming over here - no, no he's going on a smoke break. Ok, so I bag? When the cashier has to bag your groceries the people behind you in line are all "Gawd, we HAD to get behind a FAMILY purchase," because all they have is a box of wine, toilet paper, and beef jerky (party!) and boooo on you for buying family-size quantities of food. Ok, maybe it's just me. 

But anyway, there was a bagger there and he just stood there and then when my groceries came down the belt his arms went blurry and he bagged the hell out of my groceries like I have never seen them bagged before. When he was done his hands were actually smoking and he blew on him like a gunslinger blows on a gun after winning a draw. Slightly exaggerated, but still. Then the checker gave the boys stickers and because they are bought and sold with anything miniscule so long as it's free, they were all "WE LOVE IT HERE." 

(I was seriously not paid, contacted by, or cajoled by Dierbergs to write this. I just get really excited over little things.)

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