CLAUS

BLOG

Another Moment in Grocery Story History

I found her. I did. I really did. You know who I'm talkin about. The ultimate sacker. She's at the dumpiest Wal-Mart Grocery Store on the planet, Dallas Uptown's own family dump fest mc dumpingtons. She was in aisle 4, if I remember correctly. She shone like a diamond in a pile of stuff that wasn't shiney, just to illustrate how brightly she shone on this shiniest of days. At first I was apprehensive, because I saw no line in her aisle. I thought, hmmm, I bet she takes cash only. Checked for the sign, nope. So I pushed my cart passed an idiot or two and pulled up and dispersed my Tuscans, bagged salad, milk, and yogurt onto the broken conveyor belt. I piled all the similar stuff together, to make this whole process that much easier. Ya know, with the twirlie-wirlie bagging thingie there at the end it's always kind of a free for all. Like some plastic bag carousel of lost items. The sacking is the most important part of the process. If you don't sack right, you'll be walking up 3 flights of stairs doing bicep curls with 15 bags on each arm. I've done it. The plastic bags got so heavy on my wrists that I thought I'd have to cut my hands off. It was pretty cool, though, cause ever since I've tried to beat my record of 115 bucks worth of groceries, over both arms, up 3 flights and into my place with no drops. I'm a man.
But I'm not into that anymore. I'm earth friendly, and I need less bags.
So she smiles a big grill at me and asks me how I'm doing. I say great, whaddabout you, my little aproned apricot. She says fine and looks down at my crotch region. I'm unsure of what to do, so I say 'awesome.' It works in almost any situation, save for responses to deaths in families or run over dog comments.
Then she begins her magical dance with the plastic bag carousel. It's flingin' round and round, barely slowing as Tuscans drop in 3 at a time. I realize then that this woman is a master at her craft, an artisan of her profession. I admire that in her and I smile.
She's done. No way. Can't be. Yep. She asks for 92.11. I swipe my card and do the usual chicken scratch, completely illegible signature. Should call it a 'shitnature'. Cause it looks like poo poo ka ka. Hey oh.
I thank her and her grill and I stroll off. I start peaking in the bags as I make it through the door and out into freedom. That big fan that's above the door blows on me as I pass under. The fan as you're leaving? Who put that there.'So Bill, ya want the fan on em as they leave?' 'Yep, give em a blow as they go.' 'Er, Ok. Seems better to give em a cool off as they come in?' 'Nah. Terrible. Do what I say, Jim. My tag says Boss, yours says nothing. Cause you don't even have one.'
Anyway-I can't believe how well she bagged it all. Frozens with frozens. Dairy with dairy. Soap with deodorant. I used to sack. I was a sacker at Randall's when I was 16. And I was good. But this woman...she was good, too. I'm not going to say better. Cause I had to work with paper, and she uses the plastic carousel of death. It's like Paul Bunyan and that tiny guy that used the electric saw and put him out of a job. I'd be good in the beginning, but that bitch would just keep spinning that plastic bag torture wheel and she'd take me.
I gets to the car and put it all on the back seat. Sounds good at the time.
I pull out of the parking lot and think I can make a yellow light about 100 yards away. I slam on it. The expo responds like a dead horse. I realize with about 20 yards to go that the light has already become a stale red so I slam the breaks.
The perfectly bagged groceries fall to the ground. Frozens on Soap. Dairy with deodorant.
I wonder what my aproned apricot is doing later.