At the Grocery Store

By Caroline Ho, Assistant Editor

Grocery store, five-thirty—it’s the perfect time of day

To find us nine-to-fivers in our post-work disarray

You’ve got your goods, now all that’s left is lining up to pay.

 

Which lane to choose? Each looks at least a dozen shoppers deep

I mill around confusedly, just another hapless sheep

Just pick one and stop dithering, you’re looking like a creep.

 

With my basket flailing awkwardly, I shuffle in behind

A cart piled high with paper towel—the name-brand, fancy kind

Meanwhile, your budget limits you to the cheapest you can find.

 

Gosh, next to that, my basket’s full of such sad-looking fare

Like my off-brand “cream cheese product” and my one bruised, clearance pear

Come on, the cashier won’t judge you. They’re not paid enough to care.

 

But even worse than judgment—the dreaded small-talk at the till

Will they ask “How has your day been?” Now I’m terrified they will—

Stop freaking out, you loser. It’s a cashier. Please, just chill.

 

I’ll smile and nod, say, “Fine, thanks,” I’ll be pleasant, normal, bland

—Wait, what’s this loaf of bread? Oh, no, I grabbed the pricey brand?

Just say that you don’t want it. The cashier will understand.

 

But I can’t just tell the cashier I don’t want it anymore

Just thinking of the awkwardness strikes dread within my core

Fine, buy the bread you can’t afford. See, this is why you’re poor.

 

I don’t dare ask the cashier to return it to the shelf

Perhaps I should just go and put this bread loaf back myself

Just TAKE the nicer bread. It’s probably better for your health.

 

I’ll buy it. Fine. I know I can. My soul is resolute

The bread sits in my basket, proud, beside my clearance fruit

Why are you so pleased with yourself? Nobody gives a hoot.

 

Oh dear—the line’s progressing quickly, forward one by one

I inch along so timidly, I fight the urge to run

Look, see, you’re managing, you wimp. Your torture’s almost done.

 

Uh-oh, I’m getting closer, feel my heart begin to race

With each step that brings me near to interaction, face-to-face

Why is this still so hard? You do this once every four days.

 

I’m going to mess this up, I’m going to look like such a joke

I’ll trip, I’ll stammer, drop my card, try speaking but just choke—

Stop panicking, you idiot. You’ll give yourself a stroke.

 

The terror starts for real now. What if my card gets declined?

Do I dare to make eye contact—oh shit, oh no, I’m next in line

JUST BREATHE IN, SELF, RELAX, BE CALM. YOU’VE GOT THIS. YOU’LL BE FINE.

 

Heart’s pounding madly as the cashier greets me with a smile

Why must this process always be this terrifying trial?!

Fuck it, next time you’re going through the self-checkout aisle.