written by owen

I often wonder how people work in supermarkets. The small, great smelling marts are OK. But on another level you have those gigantic all-you-can-ever want warehouse super-supermarkets. Sometimes I wonder how they don't find people dead in the aisles in the back. Or gang wars going on in the stationary products aisle. It is often hard to decide whether you want one book with 3 subjects or 5 books with 1 subject. I suppose it must be difficult to work in an environment that is centered around selling food, women's underwear and household appliances. Especially the with all the fresh meat coming in on a daily basis.

What do they really do with the milk after it passes the expiration date. Put it back in the cow? I went down to the agricultural produce section, the place where they imprison the carrots. Neatly, packed, in plastic wrap. I strain my eyes to read the label and it was apparent that these carrots where in fact packaged somewhere in GA. It was inconspicuously hidden which forced me to start touching and rotating the package. Like a health conscious single mother. I park my shopping-kart in the soft drink aisle, I feel uncomfortable pushing around anything with a baby seat for twins. It would not be so bad if I had a wife to guard it from the Yakuza. So I watch it from a safe distance while I check out the meat.

I always buy Jamaican. There are however situations such as when it comes to Kellogg's frosted flakes, Puerto Rican, Chinese and white. I like the variety though and the feeling I get when I walk through the sensors at the entrance - I think they are reading my thoughts or maybe telling me to buy carrots. Carrots from GA. Luckily I write stuff down. I avoid eye contact as I leave because the ladies giving out free samples have my ticket to ride.

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