I just got back from the supermarket. I waited until 8:50pm to go up with the mindset I would let the Thanksgiving rush be gone with the supermarket. I was partly wrong in this. It was still way more crowded than a usual Tuesday at 9pm, and that was with five cashiers open. Although it wasn’t as bad as the 300-foot line I saw in there two years ago.

While shopping I had seen a young six or seven year old boy running through the supermarket without a parent in sight while I was on the express line for 20 minutes this same young boy kept running full speed through the fruit/vegetable areas, out the front door to the sidewalk and back. This made me think where was his guardian of some sort.

Then I got to thinking where all these people that were swapped on the lines around me we from. Did they not ever eat? Did they not ever shop at a supermarket on some sort of regular basis? These people aren’t hipsters, or young 20somthings, they are mostly people in their 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s. Why the hell do they all need to buy two shopping carts full of groceries???

I know Thanksgiving is here and whatnot, but don’t they have the bare essentials to live already in their closets? Do they really need multiple 20 packs of Scott toilet paper? Just whom exactly are they having over for dinner that might have needs that great?

Then it was my turn at the cashier. I had cleverly placed all of my big bottles towards the customer side of the belt, leaving no room for the older woman in front of me to lollygag at the cashier. The cashier swiped my milk through and bagged it, then my eggs, and while she went to bag the eggs she dropped the dozen in carton on the plastic bag holster. I thought, “fuck, I gotta go get another set of eggs.”

She opened it up and wanted to see the damage. I couldn’t help but look at such an awful sight, and when I did I saw the unexpected. Not one egg was cracked. From the look of the outer package of the eggs one would think at least four would have broke. I told the cashier it looked good and no worries (not that I would worry over eggs or anything I bought at the supermarket) and yet she insisted on inspecting all 12 eggs. She informed me that she is just too neurotic not to check that not one egg cracked.

I stood there, watched, and marveled at the fact that for a moment, just one split moment, someone seemed way more neurotic in a good (or bad) way than I am. It was a good feeling to have.