I didn’t know what to write about this week, hence my tardiness, but then I went to the grocery store. I don’t go un less I have to, but I have folks coming to dinner tomorrow night and that means something more than fish sticks and canned green beans.

So off I went to my newly remodeled Tom Thumb. I love that store, although it is on the dodgy end of Skillman, and it frightens my children that I shop there. But I’ve been going there for years and I can get a parking place by the cart corral.

This is the same store that several months ago was like a weird game of hide-and-seek.

Me: Can you tell me where the cake mixes are?

Them: Sure, on the last aisle across from the toilet paper and next to the fish.

Things kept moving like the staircases at Hogwarts. But the chaos was worth it because now it’s beautiful and they are having a Grand Re-opening.

So I filled my cart with necessities and lovely dinner things, then made my way to the checkout.

There were no lights on any of the checkout lanes, although at least five checker-outers were gathered at the customer service counter. I cleared my throat, daintily, but no one turned around. I had no choice but to use the

SELF-CHECK-OUT

I harrumphed in annoyance and scanned a bottle of Diet Root Beer and put it in the bagging area.

HER: Please place your item in the bagging area.

ME: I did, you hag.

I ignored her and her syrupy sweet voice and scanned a bottle of Diet Cranberry Juice. (There are a lot of diet beverages in this story, I like to be hydrated, but thin.)

HER: Please wait for assistance.

A young man with glasses and dreadlocks came to my aide and swiped his pass.

I thanked him and scanned another item and slammed it into the bagging area. Three items later, it stopped again.

HER: Please place your item in the bagging area. Please remove your item from the bagging area. Please rescan your item. Please wait for assistance.

The young man came back. And I became Karen. This happens occasionally when I feel I should educate someone on what is wrong with their place of business in regards to me.

ME: I hate this whole thing! It is your Grand Re-opening and you have no one in the check-out lanes. How can I possibly scan this cart full of items by myself? This is bad customer service. I know it’s not your fault, but you should tell your boss!

Now I know this poor young man is not going to go tell his boss what the uppity woman on self check-out 2 thinks of their system. But someone needs to be told.

He swiped his pass and I got a few more things done. And it stopped again. This time when he came over, a number of supposedly illicit items in the bagging area fell onto the floor. I started laughing, somewhat hysterically.

ME; I’m tempted to leave my cart, but there’s wine in here and I really need that now, so I am going to soldier on. Why don’t you just stand there ready to swipe me clear until I’m done?

He did not realize I was serious.

Finally, with my cart a chaotic mess of bags and a couple of things left to scan, including the wine, I realized I had a cucumber and bunch of green onions. Damned if I was going to abandon them, but what to do? They had no barcode to help me along. Scott had taught me: When in doubt, read the screen. I punched in the green onions. Who knew there were so many choices. And more for the cucumbers. I have a new respect for them both.

Finally I paid, thanked the poor beleaguered young man, and steered my cart to my car. It was then I noticed that in the chaotic mess of my cart I had not scanned the hot dog buns. I put them in the car and shut the hatch.

I feel bad about this for two reasons:

First: I robbed Tom Thumb of whatever they cost–absolutely no idea.

Secondly: Now you know I am eating hot dogs, the Han Solo of sandwiches and one of my particular favorites.

I am very ashamed, but I blame it on Tom Thumb.