Yesterday, I went to the grocery store during the workday to pick up a few things, including a bottle of Marsala wine I needed for a recipe. Our grocery store has a large wine section, praise Jeebus, but there’s not any particular display order I can discern.
The expensive stuff is on the top shelf and the cheap crap on the bottom, but aside from that, reds, whites, pinks, etc., are intermingled, as are wines from all regions. Because of this (and because I buy it so rarely), I had a helluva time locating the Marsala.
I left my cart at one end of the aisle and paced up and down the length of it, scanning the bottles and not finding the Marsala. I was pretty sure it’s an Italian wine, so I located the Chiantis to see if it was nearby. Nope. Ditto Spain.
A man asked me if I knew of a sweet wine that would be good to use for making fruitcake. I was unable to persuade him to abandon the fruitcake project altogether, but I urged him to go with a dark rum instead, and he thanked me and left. (The recipients of that vile fruitcake will thank me later too when the rum numbs their taste buds to the horrid fruitcake flavor…)
A store employee was restocking chips across from the wine, and I enlisted him in the Marsala search, but he had no better luck than I and went in search of someone who could help. The person he brought back located the Marsala in about two seconds — randomly plonked amid unrelated wines on a middle shelf.
Realizing the length of the Marsala search had put me seriously behind schedule and in danger of missing an appointment, I chucked the bottle in the cart and raced frantically around the store to gather the other items on my list. I flung produce into the cart, then hurriedly made my way to the dairy section on the other side of the store. There, I noticed that a box of Wheat Thins was in the cart. I hate fucking Wheat Thins.
There was also an outlandish flavor of yogurt I would never buy and some other random stuff I did not recognize. Moreover, the items that should have been in my cart — including my purse — weren’t there. I realized with dawning horror that I’d taken someone else’s cart on my frenzied race around the supermarket.
I figured the switcheroo must have happened on the wine aisle. And as soon as I rounded the corner at that location, I saw a woman standing next to my actual cart, who threw her hands up in a thank-bloody-Christ gesture when I arrived.
She told me she’d chased me all over the store before giving up and just returning to the wine aisle, thinking I’d have to come back eventually since my car keys were dangling off my purse. I apologized profusely, fished out several items I’d added to her cart by mistake and put them in mine, then proceeded to checkout.
God, I’m stupid. The end.