mis-adventures in shopping

It should be noted that C seems to be enjoying these entries as much as I am enjoying writing them. I think people secretly like to be written about, even when they feel self-conscious and weird about it. This entry was C's idea (sort of).

Shopping with my roommate is generally an exercise in futility. Let me give you an example.

A few weeks ago, I came home late from work one day. I didn't get home until around 8:30, but we needed to buy some groceries. There was nothing nothing nothing to eat; the cupboards were bare. Since Central Market closes at 9, we went to Whole Foods, instead. And that was fine. We wandered through the aisles since neither of us has spent enough time at Whole Foods to become comfortable with the layout of the store, and we got most of the stuff we needed, with Claudia resolving to pick up a few more things at the Wheatsville Co-Op the next day.

And then we got to the bread section. We needed bread that night. It was very important. And, of course, we don't buy normal squishy Butter Krust bread because C won't eat that kind, and anyway, it's not vegan. So we went to the bakery and found the baguettes. C took a look at the price and visibly blanched.

"$1.99? That's pretty expensive," she said with chagrin. "Baguettes are only $1 at Randall's."

In retrospect? I should've just said, "Fine, I'll buy the baguette." But I didn't. I looked at her unbelievingly and said, "We're at a grocery store, but you want to stop by Randall's on the way home?"

That's when she got that look on her face that clearly indicated that she believed I was a value non-believer, so I sighed a defeated sigh, we bought the groceries we'd picked out (including a couple of frozen items), and we headed home, stopping at Randall's on the way.

Randall's, for those of you not familiar with Austin-area grocery stores, is one of those hotbeds of bad deals that offers a shopping-tracker card that puts its prices back within the ballpark of a normal grocery store. There's one in our neighborhood, but if I can help it, I avoid shopping there. The produce is bad, the prices are bad, and the store smells like old people. The old-people smell can be tracked to the gnome that works there. He's about 120 years old, small and shriveled and hunched over, and I'm equal parts saddened that he (apparently) can't retire yet and horrified by his long, tobacco-stained, mummified fingernails. I'm scared of The Gnome, truth be told, and I'd almost rather go to HEB (about three miles out of my way). Almost.

So we went to Randall's. I repeated the list twice. "We're getting a baguette and paper towels, and that's it, right?" Yes, she assured me, that was it.

So we went in, our sorbet melting slowly in the trunk, and rushed to the bread section. Baguette: check. Then we hurried to the paper goods section. Paper towels overpriced, but we won't have to take out a mortgage since C has her Randall's card with her. Check. And then, on the way to the checkout counter, C sees the batteries and remembers that the smoke detector needs a 9-volt. Alright, fine -- it's not on the list, but smoke detectors are important, so we compare prices and pick a battery. It's $6 normally, but with the Randall's card, it's around $2.49. Good enough, and we hurry to the checkout.

Sure enough, The Gnome was working that night. There were only about three checkout lanes open, so we picked the shortest one. The woman in front of us in line had apparently earned a free turkey by paying too much for canned peas all year long, so we waited patiently in line as the cashier went to the freezer section to locate the turkey and lug it to the checkout lane. That was our fatal error. In the next lane, The Gnome spotted us, raised his wrinkly little fingers, and summoned us to his lane. We shot each other horrified glances, but we couldn't find a way around it, so we moved to his lane.

We had three items. Three. But I stood there at the other end of the checkout lane and watched as he took at least five minutes to scan them and operate the payment machine. My attention was drifting when I noticed C going over her receipt and then pointing out an error. "These batteries were only supposed to be $2.49," she explained to The Gnome.

His yellowed fingers reached out to take the receipt from her, and he pulled it toward himself, squinting through his glasses to read the small print. "Well, you didn't have a Randall's card," he answered. This from the ancient gnome who chided me for not having a Randall's card when I moved into the neighborhood.

"But I swiped my Randall's card," C answered, trying not to look visibly horrified.

"Sometimes, they don't take," he answered. "You should've checked before you signed the receipt."

The customer? Not always right on The Gnome's shift.

"Well, if you bring back your receipt and your Randall's card and take them to the service desk in the morning, they'll refund you the difference," he concluded, and C took her receipt from his gnarled talons and stalked out of the store. She was pissed!

We hadn't even gotten to the car yet before she started bitching. Luckily for me, it's a short drive home. "And I spent $6.00 on batteries," she complained, "and the old man breathed on my baguette! Now I can't eat it."

I stared at her, stunned. "...I'm so glad we saved that dollar," I concluded.

Next time? Next time, I'll know better.