Going To The Grocery Store On A Monday Night Is A Fools Errand
It’s been a long Monday. I’ve fought tooth and nail to get to the end of this workday in the dead of winter and because I’m still in resolution mode, I’ve been bringing my lunch to work everyday. No spending money on unnecessary things like a burrito bowl from Chipotle or a delightful chicken shawarma plate from the mediterranean spot down the street from my office.
No, sir. January is about working out and being miserable when you eat a meal because you’re trying to look good come March when you send it somewhere warm for a week to unwind. I’ve had some variation of a chicken breast and rice or a homemade turkey sandwich the last 21 days and I am itching to get takeout food but I don’t do it.
I used the last of my turkey and cheese on a half assed sandwich that kept me full for all of an hour earlier that Monday afternoon and as I drive home I start to think about my options for dinner. I’ve got a frozen pizza that’s been sitting in my freezer for at least two months.
I’ve got a pound of rice in the cupboard, some peanut butter, and a half of a loaf of bread that I’m fairly certain has started to mold. I can never finish the entire loaf. It frustrates me. Two options lie in front of me - 1. I can order takeout and break my rule of not unhealthily. 2. I can go to the grocery store.
“It’s right on the way home,” I say to myself. “It’ll take you ten minutes tops and then you’ll have food for the whole week.” But in the back of mind, as I pull into the lot in front of Mariano’s (a Chicagoland staple) I know that this will not be a quick in and out trip. I fight tooth and nail to get a spot about 500 yards from the grocery store entrance. Cars are everywhere, parked sideways with people trying to make their way in and out.
The grocery store parking lot is lawless. It’s every man for himself our here, especially so when it’s snowing outside and the boundaries for where you’re supposed to park are not visible. Inside the store it’s a madhouse. Picked over avocados, sad, unwanted celery stalks, and kale line the vegetable aisles. I get some lettuce, a tomato, and some buns to make turkey sandwiches with and then I make my way over to the dreaded deli counter.
It’s predictably swamped. I grab a number -52 - and I wait. The queue is at 41 and I stand there with my dick in my hand for what feels like an hour (actually closer to 10 minutes) and order a pound of Boar’s Head oven roasted turkey. I’m exhausted as I go over to the dairy section of the store and get a half gallon of whole milk, some cottage cheese, and strawberry yogurt.
Now I’m walking past the candy aisle and I can’t help but grab a bag of those mini Snickers bars. I wait another fifteen at the checkout line and walk back to my car in the bitter cold. I tell myself that next weekend I’m going to get to the grocery store on Saturday or Sunday morning and beat the rush, but I know I’ll be back here next Monday night with a barren refrigerator, fighting back the procrastinating hoards who are doing the same thing as me.