COMMENTARY

My Take... For what it’s worth

Wednesday,  January 25, 2006

(The opinions presented in these articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the Hay family!)

The words just wouldn’t come this week. I must have had an acute case of writer’s block or what I call New Year’s blahtosis.

Hard as I tried, I just couldn’t be inspired to put pen-to-paper or fingers to keyboard. So, I did what any self respecting woman does when stressed, I went shopping! Not shopping in the true sense of the word because it was Foster’s Food Fair and that doesn’t count.

By the time I reached aisle three, I got my second toe-mashing of the day so I decided that it was time to address the Saturday Toe-Mashers and perhaps invest in a pair of steel toed boots.

I’m sure we have Monday-Friday toe-mashers (and let’s not forget the heel-riders), but I don’t think they’re quite as ferocious as Saturday’s toe-getters. 

(On those days when nothing goes right, I always get the cart with the wobbly wheel or the one that doesn’t turn at all. Thankfully Ivan did away with most of those.) 

With the exception of the automobile, a shopping cart has become Cayman’s 2nd favourite 4-wheeled vehicle and we don’t know how to drive or park either one of them property.

There aren’t any “NO PARKING” signs inside the supermarkets and shoppers park centre stage and browse the aisle at leisure from side to side.

Try as you might, you just can’t pass, so you participate in a game of bumper-cars. Then we have those who desert their carts anywhere of their choosing and scoot up and down each aisle like marathon runners, returning only to dump an armload of items into the abandoned cart and then they’re off in search again.

This is not entirely a bad thing because I’ll peruse the abandoned cart to see if there’s anything in it I need to save me locating it later … just kidding!

Speaking of this, how many of us snatch the item left at the check-out counter by others who decided they didn’t want it after all and it’s just what we were looking for? Come on, admit it, you know you’ve done it!

Bring back my Supermarket Sunday. It’s conducted at a more leisurely pace. Forget for a moment about the Christian aspects of Sunday trading, I’m sure God doesn’t approve of us mashing each others feet during the week – something to do with our bodies being His temple and all that.

It could just be me, but I found the Sunday shoppers less ferocious and the toe-mashers already did their week’s shopping the day before. Maybe it’s because the supermarkets are less crowded on Sunday or perhaps it’s because it’s a Christian day and shoppers are on their best behaviour. 

It’s not an accident that 90 percent of supermarkets are full of females. Women, those in their right minds anyway, normally don’t send their husbands or boyfriends because they will, out of ignorance or spite at being sent shopping, choose the rottenest, stalest produce.

They just seem to reach into the bins and whatever their hand touches first, they throw in the cart.

I’m convinced they do this just so we won’t ever send them again. When I was dating, I sent my boyfriend to get me some Bounce (fabric softener), and he came back with a rubber ball – I swear … this is no joke.

I gave it a few more years before I dared to send the male species back to a supermarket on my behalf. Then it happened quite innocently.

Once while deathly ill in bed with the flu, I dared to send my husband to the store. He came back proud as punch with an assortment of boxes illustrated with appetizing entrées and thought that the entire meal shown on the packet was actually enclosed! What a dufus! 

Lots of locals use the specials of the week advertised in newspaper flyers to make their grocery list. That’s far too organized for me – if I need tinned peas this week and they’re not on special, I’m going to buy them anyway. 

Worse yet, at the check-out counter, get behind an American tourist fresh off the plane with a wad of crisp US dollar notes. Try as she might, the teller has a tough time explaining that she’s not ripping them off.

My motor mouth normally chimes in at this point. Firstly because I have ice cream in the cart and secondly, I think they feel more comfortable if they get another opinion … who on earth knows.

I do know that I wouldn’t take C.I dollars to a Winn-Dixie and argue my bill at the check-out counter. Enough said.

As we exit the store and make our way to our cars, we have to remove the shopping cart behind our vehicle to make room for our own grocery laden buggies.

Then what do we do, we discard our empty pushcart behind the vehicle beside us. Go figure!

Back...