You've heard the expression, "Don't judge a book by its cover." Well, I've come up with a new one:
"Don't judge a person by their shopping basket!"
There I am, standing in the gross Wal-Mart on Belle Isle, waiting patiently in line (Seriously, I cringe when I go in there, it's just...ick. Which is why I drive an extra 15 min down the road to go the nice one with nice people in the clean store. New paint and remodeling cannot hide the icky nature of this particular Wally World.). After hopping off the plane last night, I was in desperate need of a quick grocery run--all I needed was essentials so I caved and entered the shady store.
I've got my basket full of my $26 purchases to get me through the week. There's nothing interesting there. Really. Meat, soy milk, yogurt, cheerios, various berries, bananas, spaghetti sauce, bread. That's about it. Nothing crazy or would strike interest in anyone to take note. And for the first time I didn't have any treats in there for myself that I would think anyone would judge.
And by that, I mean, I feel a little guilty when I my basket has all sorts of fresh fruits and veggies and then something like, I don't know. Six bags of hershey kisses in there. OK, maybe not six, but it seems funny to me to have such a healthy looking batch of groceries and then something totally indulgent in there. Who really cares what's in your basket, honestly.
And forgive me for being that person, but I do scan other people's baskets and wonder what they're fixing for dinner, why do they need eight bottles of dish washing soap and where the heck did they get those cookies--they look great!
So I'm a basket snoop. Everyone does it mostly discretely. Mostly everyone except for this one man. Tall, basket snooper man was getting on my last nerve. Yesterday I had a very nosey person IN FRONT of me--not behind, that's a little easier for people to not notice. But oh-ho no, Mr. Man kept turning around looking in my basket and frowning. Then he'd look at me, I'd smile, he'd smirk, and then face front. After a few minutes, he'd turn around again, gaze into my non-thrilling basket, frown, look me in the eye to smirk as I once again, politely smiled and then turn around.
This happened about four times. I really wanted to interrupt his judgemental stares with a "Can I help you?" He left before I could harass him about it. Really,there is a point when it becomes rude, sir. I thought I had something on my face. I kept double checking my basket to see if something weird was hanging on to it or something.
Was he confused by the fact that I drink soy milk and yet buy yogurt? Was he surprised I didn't have pasta for my spaghetti sauce and meat? Did he want my strawberries to go with his blackberries--I mean, I'd paired mine with strawberries and even had blueberries, too. WHO KNOWS? Perhaps he was just content to scan over my groceries over and over again.
Well, sir--if I ever see you again, I'm going to stare your basket down, judge your normal food items and then smirk your way, too. Bizarre store. Bizarre people. Bizarre state. Lord, get me out of here.