The New Grocery Store Acquisition

Well, the big sign in the window finally made it official: My local grocery store is closing.

I had my suspicions. There was a vague feeling of uneasiness hanging over it like a rain cloud for quite some time. Those not so attuned to their surroundings may not have picked up on it, but for somebody like me – one with a sixth sense for these sorts of things – it was pretty obvious.

Also, the fact that the shelves have been half-stocked for several weeks now was a bit of a clue.

Anyway, this is bad thing, because I'll have to find a new place to get my groceries. Now, this may seem like a fairly simple task, especially with the help of Google Maps, but for somebody who loves their routines as much as I do, this is nothing short of an earthshaking development that will undoubtedly generate disruptive waves of uncertainty in the normally tranquil pond of my life.

It even goes beyond just finding a new place to shop. Once I manage to do so – assuming it’s even possible – I’ll then have to learn the rhythms of the new store, such as when the best times are to go if I want to avoid people clogging up the aisles, and which cashiers to avoid because they’d rather chat with the customers as opposed to actually ringing them up. Ugh. Just the thought of it makes me want to crawl into bed and whimper.

Fueled by sheer panic, I’ve spent some time trying to come up with alternatives to finding a new store, but I’ve yet to hit on anything particularly encouraging. The two I have so far are starving, or trying to hit the occasional turkey that runs out in front of my car on the way to work.

Regardless, one thing is certain: I’ll hold on to my old grocery store until the very last possible moment, desperately searching the empty shelves for anything that could give me sustenance. (“Ha-ha! Lettuce! Or maybe mold! Either way, it’s on sale!”) My goal is to be the last person to buy something from there. I’ll be like a vulture that doesn’t know when to give up, scavenging bones that have already been bleached white by the sun days before. I’ll probably have to be escorted from the premises by local law enforcement officials. (“Sir, the store is closed. Forever. You can’t keep sneaking in.”) I’ll most likely go on a last-ditch shopping binge there, filling my fridge with processed lunch meat that has enough preservatives to last for several years, which, now that I think about it, is incredibly gross, yet still so much better than shopping somewhere else.

But eventually, despite my best efforts – unless I choose the starving option – I’ll have to find a new place to shop. I have several choices. I could go to the nearby Super Target, which is what probably put my grocery store out of business in the first place. Its big selling point is its proximity to me, not to mention it would give me the flexibility to buy a new pair of socks, a yoga mat, and a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch all in one trip, should the mood strike me. The main disadvantage is that it’s Target, so there are always several billion people shopping there at any given time, half of them jamming up the checkout lines, many of them picking their noses.

Most likely, I’ll wind up locating a traditional grocery store and giving it the “ol’ college try.” I’ll wander through the unfamiliar aisles, feeling out of place and nervous. I’ll avoid eye-contact with everybody that I pass, hoping they won’t notice that I’m new here, and unfamiliar with their strange culture and odd promotions. It won’t be easy, but, by falling back on the self-reliance that made America great – otherwise known as putting on your “big boy pants” – I’ll make due. Somehow. I have no other choice. It just has to be done.

Unless… Hey, has anybody tried ordering their groceries online and having them delivered to their front door?