There
are times, neither predictable nor regular, when I am overcome by an overwhelming
sense of petty awareness and directional anemia. Everything comes into painful
focus, and I am forced to evaluate my every action on the basis of its eternal
worth. Trouble is, this sensation is unaccompanied by any strong feelings of
resolution or resolve to compensate for the sudden heaviness of my existence. Tonight,
for instance, I stood in front of a wall of lettuce for ten minutes debating
whether or not I needed two bags or one. I’m
using my parents’ money to buy this I reasoned, so it’s not like I’m incurring the financial deficit of this decision.
Still, it would be a shame to let lettuce go to waste if I didn’t eat it fast
enough or simply forgot about it in the fridge. On the other hand, what if I
became ravenously hungry for salad over the next few days? Wouldn’t I be
annoyed with myself for only getting one meager bag? Maybe if I get two I’ll be
forced to eat more salad, if not for the sake of health then from the dread of
being a wasteful slob. There were worse things than force-feeing oneself salad,
right? I decided to give myself a chance for greatness, a chance to excel both
in nutrition and sustainability; I got two bags. Naturally, the next item of interest
was salad dressing. My perusing of the appropriate isle yielded a very
disturbing result. I couldn’t find my usual bottle of Girard’s Italian
dressing, the very pinnacle of salad dressing engineering. The only Girard’s
available was of the Caesar persuasion, a flavor that I had never tried from
this particular brand. This was a real problem. Of course, I could opt to get
an Italian dressing from another brand, but I knew I would be sorely
disappointed by the discrepancy in quality. Then again, I’d really be putting
myself out on a limb by trying a variety of dressing I had never tried before.
This was a big commitment too; I had already signed myself up for a king’s portion
of half Spring Mix, half spinach salad. Time was no longer measured in minutes
or hours but in lettuce bags, and I had two of them. Could I live with a new
dressing for that period of time? What if I hated it? All that salad…wasted. I
supposed I could choke it down even if it was horrible, but then, my enjoyment
of salads might be ruined for life. My future happiness depended on this
decision. Fortune favors the bold
I finally
thought, and bravely, I reached out for the unknown.
At this point, I was beginning to
regret not getting a shopping cart or even one of those carrying basket things
at the beginning of my venture. I still had two half gallons of milk to get,
one regular and one chocolate, and I knew I’d have to get crafty in order to
hold everything. Deciding on the chocolate milk was easy; there was only one
brand to choose from and I knew I didn’t have to worry about the expiration
date given my strong affinity for the stuff. It was turning to the regular milk
that I suddenly remembered a conversation I had just had with my roommates. I
had asked them what grocery store was closest, Publix or Wal-Mart. After some
discussion, it was determined that Publix was closer, but Wal-Mart was cheaper.
“I gottcha,” I had said, “I’ll probably just go to Wal-Mart then.” But here I
was like a giant hypocrite standing in front of a Publix milk display,
balancing my two bags of lettuce in one hand and clutching my chocolate milk
and dressing with the other. I can’t buy
the Publix brand I thought to myself, my
roommates will see it and know I’m a liar. Or worse, they might think I’m some
spoiled rich kid who can afford to buy his milk at Publix. Too good for
Wal-Mart, milk elitist: these were the titles I was risking by making such a
purchase. I spotted a brand I was sure had to be carried in Wal-Mart too.
Problem solved, right? But that price…way more than the Publix brand. I tried
to remind myself that I wasn’t spending my own money, but the little part of me
that will always be aware of any financial undertaking in which I am involved
cringed at the idea. So here was my predicament: either accept my badge of milk
snobbery or become an extravagant anti-thrifter for the sake of reputation. Instead
of making a decision, I began to reason how far of a drive it might be to
Wal-Mart. Twenty minutes maybe? Then I could buy the generic brand there and still be frugal with my parents’
assets. The perfect plan. It took about three seconds for me to kick this idea
to the curb on account of stupidity, leaving me face to face with the wall of
dairy that was not offering any assistance in my decision. So at the end of the
day, when I’m looking myself in the mirror, what decision will I be able to
live with? What kind of person are you going to choose to be? There was a ten
second pause before I decided I would put my relationship with my roommates to
the test and get the Publix brand. Now somehow holding two half gallons of
milk, two bags of salad, and a bottle of salad dressing, I approached the front
of the store, desperately hoping they had a self-checkout. The thought of some
employee seeing me carrying all this crap without a shopping cart made me feel
absurd, and all I wanted was to be able to slink away without anyone
scrutinizing my grocery gathering decisions. A quick scan of the front of the
store and a smile from a girl in a green apron confirmed what I had feared: no
self-checkouts. Shuffling forward in the sad recognition that any reputation I
might have had as a savvy shopper in this place was sure to be destroyed, I approached
register number 5.
