Like this:

This morning I went shopping. Not for anyone in particular mind you, but for household essentials and foodstuffs mostly. There were a few extraneous items which defy my previous categorization, but nothing to write home about. I made several observations over the course of the morning, and will proceed to dispense with them:

The first was that I absolutely despise the practice of “shopping.” I can’t fathom how some people (women) enjoy shopping as a “release,” but I think it has to do with the fact that this sort of shopping is only therapeutic if it involves clothing specifically for the individual doing the shopping. I hate agonizing over which purchase is the “smarter” buy. For instance, do I get the surge protector for 6 bucks, the dramatically similar model that boasts a 7 dollar price tag, or purchase a 2-pack for 9 dollars. That’s 3 dollars off the first price if I buy 2, but do I need 2 subsequent surge protectors? I’m pretty sure I go into some sort of trance right there in the aisle of Target, where I’m running different life scenarios out to their predicted conclusions in my head. “What if we need another one… then I’ll end up burning gas on another trip. Well… don’t I think I’ll need another one someday? Sure, but if I don’t use it for 5 years it’s going to take up the dearth of storage space I currently possess. Is 5 bucks even a good price for one of these?” And so on. 15 minutes later, I come-to, attempt to wipe away the drool that’s now pooling on the front of my shirt, and toss the 5 dollar model into my cart. I’m still not sure what the objectively correct decision was, but I’m sure it will come to me when I’m trying to get to sleep tonight.

The second observation I made was just how difficult it was to find what should have been easy-to-locate items. I’m the kind of guy who has trouble finding items in a store to begin with and for this reason, I’ve developed a compensatory strategy over the years in which I remember the locations of certain useful items so that I can walk directly to them when the time comes to purchase their replacements. However, stores routinely rearrange their floor spaces, and this leaves me completely disoriented. Also, the signs in the stores confer little help to me because they often boast broad categories of goods, which puts me into a bit of a taxonomic quandary. Is hand soap going to be found in the kitchen supplies or bathroom supplies? The answer: neither. Also, there was an aisle of which I can’t recall the name, however, an appropriate name could have been something to the effect of, “All Manner of Household Solvents, Except for Hand Soap.”

Additionally, I have this habit of finding the most direct route through a store (generally agreed by most western scholars to be a straight line) when traveling to the department of my current interest. And, like an Alzheimer’s patient, I always forget that this is a path fraught with peril because it, without fail, will lead me unwittingly through either the section designated for infants, or for plus-size women’s undergarments. Whenever I enter these sections I am always greeted by the uncomfortable stares of the patrons (who possibly feel a bit found-out themselves), and I frankly feel like a bit of a creep. I sometimes mumble some half-hearted explanation about “trying to find automotive,” but I’ve found it far more tolerable to keep my eyes straight forward and simply increasing my walking rate,  while trying to avoid direct contact with the troubled gazes.

I’m not sure what conclusions should be drawn here, but I’ve come up with these so far: If you desperately need something on a deadline and can’t make it to the store, I’m not your guy. The odds of your desired item spontaneously materializing in front of you are probably slightly better than relying on me to get it for you on time. Also, if you see me out and about, it’s probably a safe bet to wash your hands as quickly as possible if I shake your hand.

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