The boys and I ventured out among the masses tonight, to file my taxes, and to buy some much needed groceries. (We've been living on Ramen... which, according to some, is what poor people eat... but that isn't why we ate it, actually.. yeah, it was.) Did you know that our society has become soo accustomed to convenience, that you can file your taxes right in the same store you buy your toothpaste and milk from? Hell, you can have your eyes checked, your hair cut, buy presents for anyone of any age, find a wedding ring, an outfit for work, some sensible shoes... all while you 'run in' for ben and jerry's. Don't get me wrong, I love the convenience, I love that a store much like the one I've described here has kept my sister and her children fed, clothed, sheltered, healthy, and for the most part happy. Of course, she had to sell her soul to work there, but her family is well by and large due to the existence of that store. And, I suppose, mine is too.

We shop there not only for convenience, but because they usually have the lowest prices. Believe me, if I were of the fortunate few that had an income that was 80% expendable... I would certainly shop at little local mom and pop places or maybe organic food stores. I would happily support the underdog. But, I am not. And as if I stepped on the tines of a rake, reality pops up and beans me in the face.

So there we are, my sons happily amusing themselves in the toy aisle, and I grudgingly agreeing to astronomical fees for tax preparation (again because of my generational coding that will NOT wait a few weeks... must have money now, now, now.. instant gratification.. blah blah blah) . I text the boys to come back after just a whole gruelling hour for one w-2. Holy Crap, ridiculous.

We alight ourselves to the food block of the store. Does everyone shop on Friday night? Really? This is where the entire population convenes? I had no idea. Living in Utah, with the schedule I have, and the admiration for other humans being, I shop on Sundays. There, I said it. I hate the crowds. Absolutely abhor them. When I step foot in that store on a Sunday, nary a chime from a register will sound. Muted conversations between employees stalking shelves, maybe, but rare is it to find a crowd. On occasion I pop in after class. I like watching the late night crowd. Single people mostly. Sometimes a mother still in her nursing scrubs.. a pile of kids following her, tired and cranky... I notice she forgets to remove her name tag. Her hair is a matted mess, bags under her eyes, she unloads her cart near to tears from telling her kids again and again no.. no.. no.. I always wonder why it is so completely not okay to hug a person when they need it. Even if its a stranger. Why can't I just offer this bedraggled, beautiful person some restitution?

Friday night, Ben is riding the cart between my arms, giving me a place to rest my head. My neck is strained, and aches from holding up my head. Yes, my brain is THAT big. HAHAHA! Dylan is wearing his heelies. He and Jed have decided to make a race of finding the next items on the list and returning them to the cart. Usually I set the rule that they are not to roll or run, and they must be kind and courteous to the other customers. Tonight, I don't really care.

Ben and I weave through the veggies and fruits on our journey to find bread. We stop for a bent and elderly Japanese woman, who slightly nods and wanders the other direction. We make it past the displays of meat, the frozen goods, pause for a few minutes to let an impatient sea hag by. Down the center aisle we wander, Dylan and Jed return with their spoils. They are eager for the next items. I tell them and off they go. Ben and I find the creamer for my coffee, two gallons of milk, some sunny d, and stand staring blankly at the yogurt. Its on sale. Two for a dollar. I remember a time... in all my years... that yogurt was expensive if it was twenty-five cents. We carefully select five flavors, two of each. I am standing there, debating over strawberry kiwi or key lime, when I realize there is someone of my height standing very close behind me. It kind of freaked me out a little, so I turned very suddenly to assess the situation. Having turned so quickly and with no warning, the woman there didn't have time to move, and I elbowed her, hard... in the chest. I hate it when people are so damned impatient that they have to get right up on you to attain their own goals. I didn't apologize. I know I hurt her. She stood there for several seconds with a really un-attractive pained look on her face. I asked if she would survive.. she said she would, so I took a step in her direction, she stepped back, I stepped forward, she stepped back... we continued this little dance until she had backed to the point she should have been in to start with. I returned to find my yogurt, saddled Ben up, and wandered away.

We buy butter, we buy, toilet paper, we buy apple sauce and cereal. There is a couple behind us in line. They are wearing matching sweatshirts. They are white with skulls and little flames on them. They're son is sitting in the belly of the cart. They are completely engulfed in their conversation, their child screaming for this or for that. I don't say anything. My purse is in the part of my basket where small children usually sit. The kid stands up in their cart and makes a reach for it, offsetting the weight, putting the wheels into motion.. and two oblivious parents do nothing. I catch the little brat and control myself enough to not lay a spanking of my own on him. His mother turns around and all but screams,'SIT DOWN, NOW!!'. Okay, I understand now. I slip junior a chocolate kiss as I prepare to leave.

I don't hate people. I love people. I love people of all shapes, sizes, colors, genders, ages and cultures. I absolutely do. It's just difficult to tolerate certain personalities.

Maybe I have some growing to do.

Anyway, that's why I hate buying necessities. The only time I meander into a store of this magnitude, is when I am completely out of everything. Then, I have to go. I have to endure it. Trying to find a parking spot, parking all the way out a mile away from the entrance, walking to the doorway, passing three empty spots up close along the way... waiting for people to finish their conversations, you know, that last fifteen minutes with carts parked side by side in the narrowest of aisles right in front of what you need. People that reach around you, over you, between your legs to attain their own grocery goods. The ankle beaters that run you down for not moving along fast enough. The squeezers of every last apple to find just that perfect one. (Thanks for fondling mine along the way). The store clerks and employees that pretend they don't hear you when you say, 'Excuse Me...?' I really hate chasing them across the store shouting,'Hey, YOU!! Yeah, In the BLUE SHIRT WITH A NAME TAG! YOU!!! MY HELL, STOP RUNNING!!! I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHERE THE DAMNED TAMPAX ARE!!!!!'