The Square Peg -Ain’t it Grand?
©
S. Bradley Stoner
I’m
going to be honest with you. I avoid grand openings like the plague.
Why? Because they’re a complete madhouse and shoppers get just a little bit
crazy. You might even say the cheese slid off their crackers. You have the
Mario Andrettis who think their shopping cart is a Formula One racer. Then
there are the sticky-fingered product peekers who have to pick up everything
they see. How about the aisle hogs? You know, the ones with the big carts that
park in the middle of the aisle while they wander up and down perusing the
shelves. Oh, and the cart crashers… those hyperactive, impatient knot heads who
don’t have time to wait for you to move and ram the old cart right into your
butt. And that’s not even to mention the folks who stand with glazed eyes
staring into space like lost children in an amusement park. Geez, it’s enough
to drive a sane man crazy.
How do I know all this? Easy, I
went to a few grand openings when I was young and stupid. I’m older and wiser
now… or so I thought. It wasn’t up to me. I was duped. After twenty some years,
you’d think I’d learn. Sneaky women. “I need to pick up a few things… want to
go with me?” Well heck, why not? It was Saturday and I wasn’t doing much, so
off we went. I got suspicious the minute we turned left instead of right. This
wasn’t the direction of our usual “pick up a few things” store.
“Um… where are we going?” I asked
with more than a little trepidation.
“That new HEB super store… they
have a bunch of grand opening specials. It’s time to stock up.”
I groaned… and I got the look. Every guy out there knows what
I’m talking about.
“Did I complain when you spent half a day in the Bass Pro Shop?”
“Well, um… no. Gee whiz, Sweetie,
there’s nothing I like better than going grocery shopping with you.” Hey, I
tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice… you gotta give me credit for that.
“Watch it, bub.”
I raised my palms and tried to
look like an innocent, injured party. It didn’t work… it never does. You’d
think I’d learn.
Well, we made it to the shiny new
store. The parking lot was a madhouse, not to mention jam-packed full. I was
hoping for a miracle… no space, no shopping. No such luck. As usual, she
arrived in a row just as another patron was making his escape in a big pickup
and slid into his space only two spots in, putting us really close to the entrance.
I don’t know how she does that. I think it’s some kind of dark magic.
“See, we were meant to be here,”
she chirped cheerfully.
I followed her in, looking like
every other guy who’d been conned into going to the grand opening… a condemned
man on his final walk. You’ve seen the look, I know you have. And we were all
following women who looked like they’d died and gone to heaven. Right until
they saw the crowds… and suddenly they turned into hawk-eyed birds of prey bent
on snatching the goodies before the other birds of prey spotted them. I guess
that’s what makes women such good shoppers. Unfortunately, these birds have a
habit of stopping suddenly in mid-flight when they spot what they’re after. My Sweetie
is no exception. Navigating the aisles with such a creature requires a great
deal of skill and lightning-fast reflexes to avoid rear-ending the love of your
life.
Unfortunately, there are others
who are less predictable… there’s the gray-headed sale darter, the
blond-crested sample taster, and the starry-eyed skirt shorter (the one who
causes the thirty-something guy behind you to crash his cart into your butt). I
swear, you have to have perfect peripheral vision and a sixth sense to navigate
the mad migration without incident. I have perfect peripheral vision, but
unfortunately my sixth sense tends to malfunction in crowds. I barely avoided a
gray-headed sale darter and smacked directly into a blond-headed sample taster.
She was not amused… especially with that salsa sample dripping down her
impeccable yellow blouse. I mumbled an apology and disappeared quickly into the
crowd.
Well, we finally finished our
aisle ambling with a shopping cart full of specially priced goodies, found an
aisle that wasn’t wall-to-wall shoppers, and made our way to the check-out
stands. I was dreading it. I could just picture the long lines and waiting for
Molly Moptop to scan articles as slowly as possible while shooting the breeze
with all the other double-breasted chats. I was pleasantly surprised, however.
Every check-out stand was open and there was no more than one customer in line
on each one… and the clerks were fast. Woohoo! We’d get out in jig time. There
is a shopping God after all.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” my
Sweetie crooned, leaving the three cars vying for her parking spot to fight it
out behind us.
“It could’ve been worse,” I
admitted.
She smiled at me and said, “You’re
such a duck.”
I’m not sure where she got that,
but it’s been a kind of pet comment to me since we met. Maybe it’s because she
drives me quackers.