bruce potterSupermarkets - where happiness is perishable
July 20th 2009 15:22
I hate supermarkets. I understand they are a necessary evil, and I do feel sorry for supermarket staff for the soulcrushing task it must be to have to work there, and also for the atrocious manner in which their customers behave. But if I could live this and the next life over and never visit a supermarket again, it would be too soon.
Couples should never go to the supermarket together. A life shared is hard enough in modern times, but taking on the task of doing the regular weekly shop and avoiding the myriad opportunities for conflict is too much to ask.
The aisles may be wider then ever, but they’re littered with the detritus and fallout from many “happy” couples shopping adventures.
First there’s the parking issue; most men park in the first spot they see. Most women like to be reasonably close to the supermarket/lift door. Why a person who spends eight hours a week at the gym, loses their freakin’ mind at having to push the trolley an extra thirty metres is beyond me, but there you go. My preferred parking spot is not in the car park at all – I park in the street. Maybe that’s why I’m single.
Then you have the woollworths/coles/franklins/a ldi issue. I try to use them all; be a grocery slut; show no loyalty at all. Make them work for my business. But most women will have a personal favourite, for entirely honest reasons. Most men will have a personal favourite – which ever one you can get out of the quickest.
Then comes the perishable/non-perishable debate. I absolutely understand that fresh food always tastes better and is better for you. But in this bankrupt age, many of us don’t have a choice. If it comes out of a box or can, it will cost half as much, last twice as long, and take half as long as to prepare as fresh food.
Then you have the individual choice issues; nobody has exactly the same diet as you. Expecting your partner to eat exactly what you do is a fool’s errand. Expecting a man to completely willingly change his diet for the rest of his life is a greater joke. (See previous “Men are not projects” post.)
So there has to be compromise; maybe you both like different flavours of fruit juice; you may like different breads; you may like different meats.
Finding middle ground here is always difficult. Find it as soon you can, as there’ve been too many political scandals over petty things. Meat-Gate; Fruit-Gate; Butter-Gate; Sauce-Gate, et al.
Then there’s sizeable dramas over smaller things – friends of mine had an argument over the way the items were placed on the conveyer belt and then packed into the trolley. Another couple used to battle over the way the groceries were packed away at home. So much heated discussion over something that is entirely unworthy of you and your partner’s energy.
I do believe that this pettiness is brought out by the supermarket. For some reason when you walk through that turnstyle, there’s a very good chance you’ll have an argument with your loved one over something you wouldn’t care about beyond those evil confines. Suddenly desecated coconut or wholemeal breadcrumbs or seafood cocktail sauce become like Bush’s WMD’s; something worth sacrificing human life for, despite clear evidence to the contrary.
My solution – An adult crèche at the supermarket. I’ve often thought with the tantrums being thrown by children in the supermarkets a crèche at the supermarket might be something parents would like. An extension of that would be an adult crèche; one for men and one for women.
The men’s would feature a big arse plasma (because to us plasmas are like penises – they can never really be big enough) with a playstation and a foxtel decoder with a platinum package. No bar but though; a bar would only result in the men leaving the crèche to hit on the checkout operators. Then you’ve got Checkout-Gate.
The women’s would have a coffee shop, bookshop, handicraft stall and a smaller plasma with a rotating DVD loop of Grease, Dirty Dancing, Pretty Woman and Mama Mia.
Each couple would take turns in their respective crèches, whilst the other one shopped, half-hour on/half-hour off and then they would go home.
Everyone’s happy.
Then you get home and find that four of the dozen eggs that the man was sure he checked, are broken.
Egg-Gate.
Oh well.
Couples should never go to the supermarket together. A life shared is hard enough in modern times, but taking on the task of doing the regular weekly shop and avoiding the myriad opportunities for conflict is too much to ask.
The aisles may be wider then ever, but they’re littered with the detritus and fallout from many “happy” couples shopping adventures.
Then you have the woollworths/coles/franklins/a ldi issue. I try to use them all; be a grocery slut; show no loyalty at all. Make them work for my business. But most women will have a personal favourite, for entirely honest reasons. Most men will have a personal favourite – which ever one you can get out of the quickest.
Then comes the perishable/non-perishable debate. I absolutely understand that fresh food always tastes better and is better for you. But in this bankrupt age, many of us don’t have a choice. If it comes out of a box or can, it will cost half as much, last twice as long, and take half as long as to prepare as fresh food.
So there has to be compromise; maybe you both like different flavours of fruit juice; you may like different breads; you may like different meats.
Finding middle ground here is always difficult. Find it as soon you can, as there’ve been too many political scandals over petty things. Meat-Gate; Fruit-Gate; Butter-Gate; Sauce-Gate, et al.
Then there’s sizeable dramas over smaller things – friends of mine had an argument over the way the items were placed on the conveyer belt and then packed into the trolley. Another couple used to battle over the way the groceries were packed away at home. So much heated discussion over something that is entirely unworthy of you and your partner’s energy.
I do believe that this pettiness is brought out by the supermarket. For some reason when you walk through that turnstyle, there’s a very good chance you’ll have an argument with your loved one over something you wouldn’t care about beyond those evil confines. Suddenly desecated coconut or wholemeal breadcrumbs or seafood cocktail sauce become like Bush’s WMD’s; something worth sacrificing human life for, despite clear evidence to the contrary.
My solution – An adult crèche at the supermarket. I’ve often thought with the tantrums being thrown by children in the supermarkets a crèche at the supermarket might be something parents would like. An extension of that would be an adult crèche; one for men and one for women.
The men’s would feature a big arse plasma (because to us plasmas are like penises – they can never really be big enough) with a playstation and a foxtel decoder with a platinum package. No bar but though; a bar would only result in the men leaving the crèche to hit on the checkout operators. Then you’ve got Checkout-Gate.
The women’s would have a coffee shop, bookshop, handicraft stall and a smaller plasma with a rotating DVD loop of Grease, Dirty Dancing, Pretty Woman and Mama Mia.
Each couple would take turns in their respective crèches, whilst the other one shopped, half-hour on/half-hour off and then they would go home.
Everyone’s happy.
Then you get home and find that four of the dozen eggs that the man was sure he checked, are broken.
Egg-Gate.
Oh well.
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