Grocery Store Grumbles

I was getting groceries the other day. With six kids at home all summer, getting groceries is about all that I ever seem to do. I’m no Rachael Ray, yet my world revolves around food and its acquisition. The meals need to be planned, the food retrieved and revived (if necessary), cooked, and doled out. By the time we’re done eating and cleaning up, it’s time for the next meal. These days, food consumes me as much as I consume it.



When I go to the grocery store, even if only for milk, at checkout it costs at least $60. That’s why milk is at the depths of the store, so shopping carts can magnetically attract purchases en route. I try the smaller carts, but these groceries know I come from a country of over a billion people. They just crowd in and pile high.


Desperate for a quick and economical trip, as risqué as it sounds, I have even gone cart-less. You would be amazed by what I can clutch in my hands and amass in my arm-chest fortress. Since I have no shame (the first childbirth sheds you of that), I can even bite the Krispy Kreme Crullers bag and deposit it first, like an obedient dog, onto the conveyor belt. Mouth free, I can beam at the cashier while releasing the armload avalanche.

 Perhaps, instead of bypassing the cart, I should leave the credit card behind to curb impulsive purchases. It would be effective, yes, but embarrassing when that bitten-bag of doughnuts has to be voided.



I once had an economizing scheme when we first married. My husband was a graduate-student and I was a junior in college. Tight finances stipulated that I frequent the grocery store…less frequently, just once a week. If we had to get creative mid-week, then so be it. Regular people count carbs, calories, and fats when choosing food. In college, you just count the cost.


By Thursday night, I served this colorful (and cheap) dinner to my new husband: a hot bowl of Cream-of-Wheat and a plate of watermelon chunks. Whatever his other faults, this man almost never complains about food. All he did was raise his eyebrows, a gesture which I interpreted as wonder at my ingenuity and resourcefulness.


Moments later, he rushed away. What his intellect had accepted, his stomach had duly rejected. He was just in time to coat the bathroom doorknob with a fountain of pink. Under other circumstances, it would have been such a lovely color. He has never eaten Cream-of-Wheat since. And, to prevent the recurrence of such culinary crimes, I go grocery shopping as often as necessary.


Clip coupons, you suggest? I have lost faith in coupons. Sometimes I have a valid coupon, but saving 75¢ on a huge shopping bill doesn’t feel that effective. Most often, I find trifling coupons for items I rarely use. “Brand XYZ of salad dressing: gallon size only. Must purchase three gallons at the regular price to get 50 ¢ off the fourth gallon.”


And I haven’t grasped that member vs. non-member pricing system. It’s supposed to make you feel good when you check out: your bill would have been $ 237 at the non-member price, but as a “member” (i.e., you supplied your phone number), it is $ 203. Wow! You just saved $ 34, over 10% of your bill. Why aren’t you shopping here all the time?


I like saving money just as much as the next man or mom. So why not price things so I “save” even more? Why not mark the non-member price for strawberries, say, instead of $ 5.99, something really ridiculous, like $ 15.99? Instantly and effortlessly, I now save another $10.

And as long as I’m griping, what’s with bulk-pricing policy? Brand X yogurt is 8 for $6. Brand Y is 5 for $4. Once you’ve figured out that that means Brand X yogurt costs 75¢ per cup while Brand Y costs 80¢, your work is still not done, because, of course, Brand X is sold in 6 oz. cups while Brand Y comes in 8 oz. cups. I can do the math, but please don’t ask me to do it while I am freezing to death in the cheese and dairy aisle. Just give me the price for one, and I will multiply if I need to. (I’m much better at multiplying – after all, I have six kids.)


When I do find a useful coupon, it has invariably expired. Or, worse yet, I start with a good, unexpired, and useful coupon in hand and misplace it in the store. You have to hold the coupons, Silly. How else can you ensure you are buying the selected variety in the requisite size and specified quantity?


What kind of loon loses a coupon? Once, while trying to be stylish, I was parading about the store with a cup of coffee in hand. I must have gotten an older model cart, because it did not have the cup-holder that is legally required to be in every vehicle, stroller, riding mower, La-Z-Boy, and shopping cart. Thus, as my tiny cart filled up, I had to keep setting the coffee on a shelf so I could use both hands to speed up the collection process. I wonder who eventually found that old (and now terribly cold) cup of coffee.


I last had it in the yogurt aisle, fending off hypothermia while doing mental math. If no one has found it, have no fear. I’ll be back before too long.