The Kosmala Blog

Last week, I was pursued by hundreds of females. All of them were after my hot body and wanted to make babies with me.

Damn mosquitos…

I’m going to have to disagree with you on that last bit… robots aren’t the answer; co-ops are.

I used to shop at a big ol’ grocery store, too. Then I found a little family-owned grocery store in Silver Spring and that made a big difference. There are a few things I hate about certain kinds of shopping, especially grocery shopping:

1. Having to go all the way across a big store to get one small item. (This is, of course, why they put the milk in the far back corner — so you have to go by everything else on the way, and maybe you’ll think “ooh, I need that too!”)
2. Avoiding other people and their carts. I like to go fast. It’s an errand, not a stroll. If I wanted to stroll, I’d be in a park or some other place that’s enjoyable.
3. Having to choose a product from an assortment of five bazillion products that are all pretty much the same, but vary in price and amount, so I have to figure out if $1.19 for 6 oz. is better or worse than $1.99 for 11 oz.
4. Packaging. I don’t like throwing things out anyway. I especially don’t like throwing out useless extra packaging.
5. Standing in line. See reasons under #2.

So this little grocery store, it eliminated #1 because I didn’t have very far to go to get to any place in the store. And because of that I didn’t have to push a big cart around avoiding people. I could just carry a basket and slalom around people. Eliminate #2. Now, because the store was small, there weren’t fifty brands of anything, just a couple. You might say, “but they must not have everything you could possibly need.” I only once ever couldn’t find something — I think it was whole canned chili peppers (they only had chopped ones). Eliminate #3. What about packaging? Ah, there it was about the same as the big grocery stores. Same brands, same packaging.

Then I moved to the Twin Cities, cradle of U.S. food cooperatives, and home to a dozen independently-run food co-ops spread throughout the cities. It was like grocery heaven. The first bunch of times I went it was more like an expedition of discovery than errand. Like the family-owned grocery in Silver Spring, the co-ops are small in size, so you don’t have to walk a half-mile past chips and soda to get bread and milk. They have smaller sized carts and basket-carts so you don’t get people in the way quite as much. And best of all: they have bulk items. So when I need flour, I just go to the flour bin and fill up. If I need raisins, I get the only brand of bulk raisins. Chocolate chips? All I need to decide is milk-chocolate or dark-chocolate. Honey? Peanut butter? Laundry detergent? I get the bulk. This eliminates the decision issues beautifully because I can get the amount I want and not worry about pricing. And, because the co-ops tend to share my values about local/organic/sustainable, they stock the brands I would tend to buy if I did have to choose. What about #4? Because of the bulk, I can bring my own containers and I eliminate almost all food packaging. Yes, there’s that little ring from the milk container that I have to rip off, but the container itself is glass and returnable to the co-op for a deposit refund. We simply bring our canisters of flour, etc. to refill. And so on. So gone is #4 and, as it happens, #5. Co-ops are responsive to their customers, the bulk of whom make up their membership. As a result, I pretty much never have to wait more than a minute or two to start checking out my groceries — at any of the co-ops. Try that at your big grocery store. Because the cashiers are being paid decently, they’re nice — often even cheerful. The other co-op customers, likewise, don’t generally look like the big store zombie customers, suffering under the onerous weight of the dreaded weekly chore.

So, I’d say the problem isn’t with food per se. It’s with stores.  Most corporate grocery stores make it inefficient, tedious, annoying, ugly, and otherwise unpleasant to grocery shop. But it doesn’t have to be that way; small family-owned stores and cooperatives make shopping pleasant, if not pleasurable.

I’m not a fan of grocery shopping. I have to do it every week, and I always try and figure out if I can last a week without going, and the answer is always no. I always need something for lunch, or cereal to eat in the morning, or milk or something else I consume in constant amounts.

So every Monday finds me at the supermarket after work, trucking my cart around the store expeditiously, in hopes I can be in and out as fast as possible. I’m not exactly sure why I don’t like food shopping. It just seems one of those necessary things I have to do that would probably be more enjoyable if I didn’t feel forced to do it. (As a side note, this is probably why I should never get a job doing something I actually like doing). I’m not a fan of people in a crowded setting, and I don’t enjoy letting other people see what I buy. I know some (most) people couldn’t care less if people see what they shop for, but I’m a bit self-conscious about it, mostly because I look at other people’s carts and think, “ugh, why are they buying THAT?”

I also don’t enjoy being held up in my quest to find the shortest route in and out of the door. One particular obstacle is the deli counter. While I greatly enjoy freshly cut meats, I’ve been known to avoid the counter altogether if the line is more than few people long. Nothing irritates me more than that old woman who isn’t exactly sure if she should be there in the first place: “Should I get some of that turkey? Hmm, what kind can I get? Oh I don’t know, can I try some of this and some of that?” Or the person that has to buy everything in infinitesimal amounts: “Yes, I’d like a sixteenth of a pound of the gouda, and an eighth of a pound of the roast beef. But make sure it’s cut into tenth of an inch slices.” Instead of buying, oh I don’t know, a pound of chicken and calling it a sandwich, every possible accoutrement must be procured, in defiance of the cold stares from behind.

Once the deli is done I feel like I’m in the homestretch, even though I still have most of my shopping to do. Now I don’t have to deal with people waiting, but I still have to deal with people moving. If I ever get elected to any kind of seat of power, my first act will be to make people get a license to operate shopping carts. Carts do not belong in the middle of the aisle. Carts should not be operated by children in bumpercar-like fashion. If you have a cart parked and I need something it is blocking while you are pondering what brightly colored box to purchase for junior, move your bleeping cart. Simple rules that people should (be forced to) follow.

Despite my general disdain of the shopping experience, there is one oasis in the desert of chaos. The pet food aisle. No one ever goes into the pet food aisle. And yet the pet food aisle must exist, for there are many types of pets, and many types of products for these pets. When I make my way to the pet food aisle, I can breathe. I’m all alone. And while I have to decide whether or not my cats will enjoy liver in gravy, I can peruse at my comfort. Because no one is in the pet food aisle. In fact, I become a little offended when I see someone else in the pet food aisle. You do not belong here, this is my aisle! I want to read cat litter labels in peace, thank you very much.

Unfortunately after the pet food aisle is the bread aisle, also known as the cranky mother aisle. I got more spiteful looks here than anywhere else. I’m just getting bread, no need for the hostility. Then it’s the milk, orange juice, dairy if I need it, and I’m done. Sometimes I go through self-checkout, sometimes I don’t, depending on mood and person tolerance level at that point.

Food is essential to live, but it’s a necessary evil in my world. It makes me fat, costs me money, and requires me to deal with generally grumpy people once a week. Grumpy people that apparently realize the same thing I do. This is why robots are the answer.

When Margaret was on the farm the other day, one of the farmers commented that it would be great if their spinach grew like Margaret’s hair. While a Margaret Hair-Vegetable Hybrid could sound like a sure-fire money-maker, I think a certain amount of caution is warranted. After all, Margaret hair doesn’t just grow, it takes over.

If this sort of thing ever does happen, I am extremely worried since I am a vegetarian. I don’t expect that be looked on kindly by our new vegetable overlords.

Just my random $0.02 for the day.

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