Better Invest in Knee Pads!

I changed my mind.

It happens often and I’m quite sure that John McCain would have given his bleached blonde bride to have had this option after nominating “Serruh” as his running mate. But, unfortunately he didn’t. John went back to the sand dunes, Sarah went rogue, Bristol went to dancin’, Piper started pipin’, Trig uh started crawlin’.... and in that process Jarret became a “Maverick” too - a BLOG Maverick that is! (Stage notes: Jarret to place fake guns back in holster after blowing them out and winking at the camera.)

(I know I left a couple Palin’s out - they were out uh huntin’...moving on)

I, on the first day of an era I call “BLOG” (clever, eh?) decided to limit these writings to a specific purpose because that is what google insisted that I do. I stomped my Fred Flintstone flat foot at least three times, shed a fake tear or two, crossed my arms, sang a few Celine ballads, then of course called my Mom for her two bronze shinnies - but the words on that webpage weren’t budging an inch.

Google explained that the blog needed an intended purpose, a common thread, a sustained symbolism throughout leading readers down a straight and narrow path to the holy land. I don’t know when I was deemed Moses? I mean, other than carrying a large stone tablet with the ten commandments chiseled on its surface how could they possibly mistake me as him? I don’t look a thing like Mo! Maybe it’s the facial hair? But guess what google - ain’t happenin’! I have never liked reading the line “LIMIT ONE PER CUSTOMER!” Makes me furious. Everything is better in multiples and that’s just how my blog topics will be as well. As many topics as I like - and as often as I want to write is my new philosophy. Now, here goes...”Give me a tah pick!”

Here’s the thing my friends, I see groceries from a different perspective, from the ground...UP. I really do remember it as if it was yesterday. Sitting Indian style on the bottom of the half rusted IGA cart - which I am quite positive today would have at least three recalls for child safety, I’d watch the roaches and dust bunnies do the paso doble under the produce tables. I think one of them may have resembled Maksim Chmerkovskiy, just sayin’. As my Mamaw carefully selected a sack of onions I would be shoveling bite after bite of the largest glazed doughnut down my husky face - chased with the sweet satisfaction of an iced cold Coca Cola. Looking back on this memory I think I might know why I have an addiction to food and living on the edge of danger.

Anyhow...

Each of these rusted grocery carts were adorned with a cart number and a matching white ticket that you pulled from its slot situated on the very front of the cart right in the center. These matching numbers were there so you could identify which cart was yours later - and i’ll explain the later, a little later. It was kind of like a car emblem - a well polished Jaguar leaping from the hood of your car. It’s there for the wow factor. Like “Yeah, that ones mine!” when the valet pulls up. And, this particular day we were cart 119 and I couldn’t wait to say “Yeah, that one’s ours!”

After paying for your groceries you would drive your car to the front of the building like you were in a stretch Hummer limo dropping Angelina off for her “red carpet” appearance with another new child from Zimbabwe. However, you actually didn’t drop anything off. The small opening in the front of the store covered with plastic slats was a custom fit for these innovative carts to be pushed through by Brad (or the teenage grocery bagger). As the carts came through I made it my sole purpose to clutch the white octagon cart number ticket in my hand and wait for that coveted number “119” to shoot out of the midget door.

“Yakety Sax” would be blaring in the cassette tape player of the old brown conversion van that my Mamaw drove and the clouds of fresh air from her freshly lit Virginia slim would be floating in the air above. That smoke could linger longer than a Jehovah’s witness at my front door on Saturday morning. “Yeah, that’s ours!” I’d scream and help Brad put our cart full of “diabetic nightmare” in the middle section of our transport. I couldn’t wait to get home to open the bag and have my second glazed doughnut.

At this point you are probably thinking “Where is this story going?” Well, as I said before I see groceries from the ground up and I needed to explain why. From the ripe old age of 3 to probably around 9 my perception of the grocery store was from ground zero to about 3 feet high. I was an expert at knowing where everything could be located on the shelves that others had to be a master of yoga to reach. I actually think this might be a reason why my Mamaw took me shopping with her. She not only knew she could bribe me with sugar, she could also use my “perfectionist” nature to her advantage. Study everything low and pick it up if we need it. I never missed a box of saltines in 6 years! (Yes, it appears on my resume!)

Fast forward to 2012. My cart is overflowing with fruit because it is my new years resolution to have more fresh fruit in my kitchen. Which I’m sure some people were eyeing my cart thinking that these were just props for my "Chiquita Banana Lady" routine. Hmmmm Halloween idea...

“Hurney, dew yearn oh owl murch tease ore?” Asks a random woman standing next to me holding a bag of red potatoes.

“$3.99, Ma’am!” I answered.

“Owl juno?” asks the puzzled customer.

“Ma’am, the price is right down there...” and I pointed to the price that is located approximately three inches from the floor and tucked up underneath like a dogs tail when they see a newspaper.

This all happened subconsciously but then it hit me on why I knew the price of those potatoes. It was the years of experience that I had seeing groceries from the ground...UP. This is not experience that the general public would have. Unless the entire general public decides to invest in knee pads and stop drop and roll as soon as they enter the nearest Piggly Wiggly!

Only experienced tumbling members of the lollipop guild would have the ability to place themselves in the backbend formation needed to see the prices of some of these items. I immediately asked myself, how many buyers have an idea the price of the item that is going in their cart? Only those with Mamaw’s who needed lower shelf assistance.

If you didn’t...better invest in knee pads!

So if you see me crawling around the produce section of KROGER do not be alarmed. I have not been sniffing bleach again and am not doing research on a new grout color for my master bathroom tile – I am only trying to educate myself on the prices of the new inventory. The next time I hear “Hurney” in Kroger - I’ll either know the price of what they’re holding, or know that I’ve met the love of my life.

Jarret