By: Jess Griggs
I hate going to the grocery store.
Maneuvering a cart around other humans who also have carts, and carts that sometimes have other, smaller humans inside is enough to make me run to the nearest bathroom and lock the door.
A few weeks ago, I found myself at the back of the grocery store with a cart full of food. I turned the cart and peered down isle 2, looking for a straight shot to the self check out. It was a bust, as there were several carts and a wheelchair obstructing the aisle. On to aisle 3, where there were two people restocking shelves with boxes of canned corn haphazardly strewn about the floor. Aisles 4-6 had some suspicious characters (read: people who made eye contact with me, which obviously means they were judging me for my cart full of mac n cheese, wine, pop corn, and several 30 lb bags of generic brand sugar coated cereal.)
I froze. I could not bring myself to turn the cart down one of those aisles. I just wanted to be invisible, to fold myself into a microscopic piece of dust and float away. The noise of existing in that space was too much – rusted cart wheels squeaking, children crying, grocery bags rustling, cans clanking, heart racing, too much to bear.
The shallow breaths started, accompanied by a cold sweat. I countered with a breathing exercise I recently read about, but I couldn’t get passed step one: take a deep breath in through the nose for a count of four. I made it to one and then snorted.
My face turned hot as tears pooled in the corner of my eyes. Why are you such a freak?! Just roll your stupid cart to the front of the store like a normal person. GET IT TOGETHER, JESS. I knew I would never make it to the front of the store with myself and my cart in tact. I needed to let go of some of this baggage – I was in survival mode now. I grabbed the essentials, only what I could carry in my arms.
Hugging the huge bag of Cocoa Dyno-Bites in one arm, a gallon of milk in the other, with a box of Pop Secret Homestyle pop corn nestled snuggly in the middle, I made my way towards the self check out machine.
I’m pretty sure I heard the Chariots of Fire song come over the loudspeaker as I turned and made my way down aisle 7. This may have been imagined, but I think people actually parted for me to pass, a sweaty, hyperventilating, woman on a mission, and they even applauded me as I bravely put one foot in front of the other.
I could see the row of self check out machines, and just beyond them: the door to freedom.
My heart beat slowed down ever so much and I could breathe in for a whole count of 2 before gasping and choking on air. Eye on the prize, Jess.
And then I tripped and went down with a crunch. The bag of cereal broke my fall. Or, perhaps more accurately, I broke the bag of cereal with my fall. A split second later, the gallon of milk landed on my chest with a thud, knocking what little air I had left out of my lungs. My good old self-defense mechanism kicked into high gear. I hoped to laugh off this situation, “Yes, haha, isn’t this funny and quirky? No, I’m not hurt, just my pride, am I right?” Only I didn’t actually say any of those things, what with the wind being knocked out of me and all, so instead of laughing I just kind of grunted repeatedly like an old car that just can’t start. I tried clearing my throat and laughing louder but my body betrayed me and I whinnied like a horse and gasped for air instead. At the same time, I was trying to get up off the floor to prove to the gathering crowd of people around me that I was fine, really, just fine, but I couldn’t quite get a solid grip on the ground since the cereal kept getting in between my shoes and the floor, so I continued to flap around in the cereal debris, making a Cocoa Dyno-Bites angel imprint to clear the floor, and finally I stood up.
I maneuvered my way towards the door, limping, shaking, sweating, and picking cereal out of my hair. The nice thing about looking like a lunatic is that no one bothers to ask if you’re ok. If a normal looking person was shaking and crying, one might stop to see if they needed help. But If a person with sugar coated cereal matted to their head starts neighing like a horse and crying, one tends to avert their eyes, hold their young ones close, and go around to the other entrance of the store. FINE BY ME. I didn’t want to be here in the first place.
The Battle Of The Grocery Store:
Anxiety: 1
Jess: 0