A visit to the supermarket

 

Today, for my shopping adventure, I am going to get a big shopping cart.  It is orange, not like the smaller ones I normally use, which are yellow.  I am going to buy a lot of stuff, and I have my unmarked van parked under the surveillance camera which does not work.  You cannot really see the van from the busy Dupont street, here in Toronto.  I put out my cigarette, put on my gloves, and went on a visit to the supermarket. 

Meat cleaver.  They sell them in supermarkets now.  I never really noticed until recently.  I usually have my personal cutlery hand made by a family friend.  But I wanted a meat cleaver, and it was just for one job.  By sunrise, I would be finished.  The meat cleaver came in a blister pack.  To keep the blade factory sharp, I guess. 

Bleach versus Draino.  It is not Pepsi versus Coke.  I got four jugs of bleach and I need drain cleaner. They do not sell the concentrate anymore in the supermarket.  You know, the white powder granules with bits of aluminum and blue specks. The ready to use stuff, you only get two helpings.  With the powder, you get at least twenty.  I can be vengeful about consumer products later, so I got what I needed.  I got four jugs of drain cleaner, too.  

It is cheaper when it is free.  The shoplifting gang is making a move on the pop tarts.  Those double chocolate ones have been there at least a year.  I know.  The DEI staff are not tall enough to see the dead hornet I put on top of the top package on the top shelf.  Now the shoplifters are stuffing them into a knapsack.  I think double chocolate pop tarts would make great grave goods, like that high gluten bread they found in Tutankhamun's tomb.  

Rubber Gloves.  I could only find eight in my size.  I took them all.  I like spending other peoples' money.  I can see why the government likes doing it.  A friend gave me his credit card.  He said to me, 'Take anything you want!' So, I thought I would do a bit of shopping on his credit card.  My friend is at home, in his own basement, in his own chair, watching the big flat screen TV he bought with the money he wanted to give to me.  No problem.  I will just do some shopping, instead.  It is only money.  

Powdered Garlic.  I got a good deal.  A big container of 18 ounces.  I got four.  They look nice in my shopping card.  I wedged them in around the four jugs of bleach.  The packaging on the products is so appealing.  My shopping cart is all cheerful like a Christmas tree.  Big white jugs of bleach, golden jugs of drain cleaner, cheerful yellow rubber gloves, happy labels on the garlic, and, of course, the meat cleaver.  I put the meat cleaver on top, with the handle sticking up. The polished metal does look like the star ornament on a Christmas tree!  

Turnip versus Rutabaga.  The turnips were too small.  A bit soft. When dogs eat meat boiled with turnips, they get extra nutrition. Still, the turnips were soft.  Rutabagas are much larger than the turnips on display.  I do not like losing so much meat when I cut off their skin, which is what happens with small turnips.  I decide to go with a rutabaga.  It should have the same wellness effect as a regular turnip.  These dogs I have in mind need a good feed.  Just boil up some meat with some turnip and a few spoons of garlic.  Some people do not like the smell of boiling meat.  It reminds them of chicken or pig or cow.  Adding the turnip and garlic hides the smell of whatever meat you are boiling up.  And dogs love eating it all up when you are done!  I put the rutabaga in the shopping cart: it was the gingerbread doll on the Christmas tree! 

The line was long.  My supermarket has lots of staff working today.  But they only trust two with money.  One of the ones they trusted with money was my friend in the basement.  His next shift is not until after the weekend.  He got a good deal on a bunch of consumer goods that are outside of his means.  A month's salary on a fetish suit, for example.  He was in his basement now, wearing his fetish suit.  Do not judge him.  He was chained to the chair, too.  

The Breath Mint game.  I like to take breath mints and eat them in line.  I watch the cashier, I watch their eyes, their shoulders.  Did they see me take the breath mints?  Did they react to my violating the social taboo of eating in a supermarket?  Are they responsible team players in the jihad against shoplifting?  Was the cashier a craven, unwilling to remind a customer about the patriarchal custom of paying for groceries?   This one was looking at the meat cleaver.  It was shiny.

The return policy.  There was a line behind me, busily ignoring the shoplifting gang whoop and toss bits of packaging like vegetation.  I could smell the double chocolate.  The powerful fungicides in the chocolate did not interfere with the fragrance at all.  The people behind me would not be bothered if I slowed things down.  So, I asked the cashier about the return policy for the meat cleaver.  

The meat cleaver came in a blister pack.  I made gestures towards opening it.  You cannot open a blister pack.  It is just impossible in the check out line.  I turned to the lady behind me in line and asked to borrow her knife.  'You got a knife, lady?' I asked while holding up the meat cleaver.  I told the cashier there might be a discount coupon in the package, but he just moved back out of arms reach.  I think he wanted to call his manager, but she had left early based on when I saw her drive out of the employee parking lot en route to the Romeo Motel in Scarborough.

'Just bring it back', said the cashier who had turned pale with good customer service.  I felt included.  The cashier did not even look at the name on the credit card. 

I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this. 

I like to go to the supermarket and the bookstore, too.