A supermarket (and mall) in Connecticut

Yesterday - I woke up late, I got out late, but god damn it I got my errands done, I cleaned my apartment, and then I read for fun for the first time in a long while. I already regret not working more on my manuscript this weekend (this paper is NOT going to be ready to submit by the end of next week) but, well, mental health is my priority always. What good is having my advisor not pissed off at me, having my degree, a career, if I am insane? And yes, all that DOES depend on this paper, not because of any inherent properties of the paper, my degree, or of their relations to one another, but because my advisor has stipulated it be so. If I ever do finish this paper, I am considering printing a copy of it, sauteeing it, and eating it. I think I must in order to regain what I have spent in writing it. Maybe I can just eat the abstract.

But this isn't about my perpetual paper. It's about the mall and the unforeseen perils of the supermarket.

About half way through browsing in the bookstore yesterday afternoon, I became aware that I had to piss. This is a problem because the bookstore is in a nasty little mall populated largely by criminally bored kids who are too young to drive far far away from here. As you can imagine, the bathrooms at the mall are just foul.

That mall could be better if whoever runs it could make up their mind about who they're pitching to. For example, although the mall is populated by the very young, the very old, and the very poor, yesterday the mall was hosting an "antique sale". The very young, very old, and very poor don't buy overpriced 4th hand junk, which is a better characterization of most of the goods peddled as antiques here, where every other town claims to be the antique capital of the region, state, country, or world. The mall has driven out stores like J. Silver (properly pronounced "Jay Silva") which sold cheap hip apparel to make way for more Fashion Bug and Dress Barn type shops, where the bored sales people stand and watch the bored non-shopping kids pass by the entrance. How many times can you refold the floral print turtleneck jerseys and straighten the rounder packed with 20% off tapered leg stretch corduroy before you lose your mind?

When did the little crappy mall bookstore turn into a Borders? And when did books get so expensive? This morning, I spilled a (large) cup of water off my night stand. It is the cat's blue plastic cup that has to be kept exactly where it is and constantly full. My very first act of the moring was to accidentally hit it with one of my long flailing arms, dumping water everywhere, soaking the exact area of the carpet where two nights before I had spilled an ashtray (I vacuumed but it's the principle of the thing), and dousing the book I spent too long worrying about buying while I had to pee and still had grocery shopping to do.

I had spent so long worrying and reconsidering the cost of my eventual purchase that by the time I made my way to the mall exit, slinking past the bank of antique dealers slumped in their cane seated chairs, I decided I had no choice now but to go to the other grocery store. The other grocery store is the Big Y supermarket. Big Y has a much nicer bathroom than the one in the mall or the ones at the other area supermarkets. Big Y is also much closer to the mall. I was hesitant to go there even with these really good reasons compelling me to. You see, I don't shop at Big Y anymore because it's too far from my apartment now that I've moved two towns east. Further, the new grocery store, Stop and Shop, is union. The workers seem happier there than at Big Y. The floral department is less cramped and staffed most of the time.

This is complete bullshit.

These are undeniably nice things and good reasons to prefer Stop and Shop over Big Y, but when I think about it more than superficially, I have to admit none of these is the reason I completely stopped shopping at Big Y. No, the reason I find reasons to feel less silly about avoiding Big Y is the memories. When I was with Tom, in the 4 years we lived together, I shopped at Big Y. Or more accurately, we shopped at Big Y.

As soon as I walked in yesterday, I felt suffocated by sorrow. The worst passed quickly, but left me staggering by the muffin cart. I chose my muffins, folded the top of the bag down, and told myself to pull it together. I was surprisingly good from produce to soda, but by the time I reached the coffee corner, another wave hit me. Shake it off. Sometimes you get through things by will. Walk push walk push where are papertowels? Fuck the papertowels, keep going. Walk push walk push where is (don't cry) half and half? Where is milk? 2%? Walk push walk push....

I waited for ever in line. I flipped through the last 6 years of my life. It has as much drama, torrid love, and bad choices as any tabloid in the racks. I started feeling sad again so I went back further. Back to when I was still excited about grad school. Back to Michigan. Back to Boston...oh wait, too far back! Has my life changed much since then? Have I just found less dangerous diversions?

When the cashier finally cleared enough of the large order in front of mine, I began piling my things on the belt. As I put my dairy up, the boy behind me said "Mountain dairy, they make good stuff!" I didn't look at him completely when I began to say "yeah I guess they don't use hormones and shit...". He laughed and said "I know, I work there. We have very healthy cows." I turned to see this extremely wholesome looking young dairy boy smiling at me and I immediately blushed. In retrospect, I think part of this is that I just sometimes blush when I talk to strangers. The other part is that I had been lecturing him about something he was apparently an expert in. And the last part is that my trip through the supermarket had been so emotionally draining I am sure it showed on my face. "Oh. Um..." I said and went back to piling up my food on the belt, happy I hadn't bought tampons or preparation H or something, suddenly embarassed by my purchase of the mega-pack of double roll toilet paper. Yes, I'm an emotional wreck and I have intestinal problems, Nice to meet you wholesome young Dairy Boy.

After a brief and awkward conversation with Dairy Boy and the bagger about what to do if you drop your cell phone in a toilet (bagger suggested a hair dryer while I advocated the waterless soap option), I pushed my cart to the door. Leaving hurt almost as much as going in. Outside was a beautiful sunny evening, and I realized I still had to pee.