I always get my weekly grocery shopping out of the way on Sunday morning, no matter how late my Saturday night might have been. If you don’t go early on Sunday, you end up knee-deep in the throngs of slow shoppers. They chat in front of the produce scales instead of weighing their shit and moving on. They leave their cart in the middle of the aisle to look at something shiny that caught their eye. They stand three across discussing the merits of this salad dressing versus that. It’s maddening for a person who walks fast and writes her grocery list in the order the items appear in the store in order to eliminate unnecessary browsing. Sounds fun, huh? That’s why I go alone.
Because it’s early and I pretty much literally roll out of bed, put on clothes and head to the store, I don’t make much eye contact while I’m shopping. Not looking to get into a conversation with the chipper lady who’s been up since 6 or the crusty old man who can’t find the chutney.
I was nearing the end of my weekly chore this morning when I broke my rule. I was on the main aisle and needed to turn left to get some detergent. There was a guy coming my direction whom I needed to let pass before I could move forward. I glanced up, and he was looking me dead in the eye. Giving me the stink eye. He looked at me like I’d just puked on his grocery basket or called his mama a whore. I’m looking at him, probably with surprise on my face, and he’s staring at me as he continues pushing his shopping cart, having to turn his head as he goes by in order to maintain angry eye contact. This went on for a few seconds, which is fairly intense for this type of interaction.
It was so weird, I sort of wanted to turn around and follow him to see what the deal was. Instead, I kept walking.