Choice

So, it happened again two weeks ago. We had to go unfortunately, and it was not good. We’d just been having a discussion about how evil they are, the way they drive farmer’s prices down, freeze apples for months before showcasing them for sale, how grocery prices have gone up 40% in the last ten years, and I’m sorry but that is definitely not in line with inflation. The big two (there really is only two in this country) own thousands of pokies, bottle shops, service stations; driving prices up and pushing competition out of the market. Essentially, we discussed how they’ve taken over every aspect of our lives, and that there is no escaping their all powerful reach.

And there wasn’t.

Not this day anyway. With a bit more forward planning it might have been possible, but we didn’t plan and instead found ourselves entering a supermarket on Easter Saturday afternoon.

We tried the fruit shop next door first, to see if it could fulfill most of our foodie needs. We felt quite righteous going in there – look at us, aren’t we good, we’re supporting local business, we don’t mind paying a little bit more to support our local farmers and community.

But really we did.

And unfortunately their produce was not good. Cherry tomatoes were priced at $4.25/punnet, and looking in the plastic case many of the little puffs of red flesh had already exploded with the orange seeds rotting against the plastic. One of the great joys in life is popping a whole cherry tomato in one’s mouth and feeling the seeds explode, therefore this would just not do.

So, we sucked it up and recognised that the great ogre next door really was our only option at this point. It was N’s birthday too, and we were having some family for drinks, and supplies were desperately required. Therefore, as a birthday treat, I told him I would venture into the great beast and he could buy the wine next door (at a bottle shop owned by the same conglomerate).

I started the positive self talk as soon as I began walking towards the doors. “You can do this, it won’t be too bad, just get in and get out; it will be easy”.

It wasn’t.

I am never good in a supermarket. Recently on one Saturday afternoon venture for the weekly shop, so distressed did I look that as I was leaving I was approached by some Christian missionary-types who asked if they could pray for me. I said no, that I was fine (although even if I wasn’t, and if I actually shared their faith, would we really hold hands and pray together in the supermarket car park – does anyone say yes to such a strange offer, that seems extreme even for the extremists). Anyway, this incident is an indicator of my state within the supermarket environment.

So, back to the Easter Saturday adventure..... ....My positive self-talk did little. I got through the fresh produce section and then unfortunately had to face the deli. There were about ten customers shuffling their feet, waiting to be served, and six staff behind the counter. One staff member was serving, while the other five fluffed up potato salad, organised chickens in neat rows and chatted. Now, I am not normally one to really get frustrated over poor service at a supermarket deli.

I did today.

I basically stood there grinding my teeth in frustration, death staring the deli attendants, willing them to turn from their potato fluffing and attend to my bacon and olive requirements.

This is when the panic really set in.

Anyone who has panic attacks will know the signs (I am aware that it sounds completely ludicrous to many people that I have panic attacks about supermarket shopping, but I do, and it is very real, very horrifying ). My skin went all prickly. I ceased to exist in my body, and became a demon focussed only on the deli meat in front of me. My legs turned to jelly; my stomach was churning, and my mouth dry and floury. When the lady next to me at the deli counter ignored the number system and cut in front of me in the queue I felt bile rise in my throat as waves of anger flushed through me. I wanted to turn and unleash a tirade of abuse on her George Costanza style “We’re living in a society here”.

I said nothing.

On a normal day I am a very sympathetic warm person who laughs at those who yell over line-cutters, or do the ‘ups’ at other drivers, I feel sorry for them.

But, this is what supermarkets do to me.

Then N came and found me, he had finished the wine shopping and had come to assist me with gathering the remaining items.

This was not a good move.

His helpful suggestions of “let’s buy a dip” and “I don’t think we need another wheel of cheese” were met with eye rolls and foot stamping as my discomfort and frustration was misdirected at him. I then made the enlightened suggestion that I could make a quiche when we got home, N bravely pointed out that this may be a bit too much effort. I would hear none of it.

(Of course it turned out to be a great idea and really reduced my stress as I found myself slamming round the kitchen, lining a quiche dish, and beating eggs like a woman possessed - so much easier than buying a dip........)

Then it came to the check outs.

Of course, being Easter Saturday a decent line up had developed. N gently tried to soothe me, and instead I basically blamed him for us being there (why did he have to have a birthday on Easter Saturday) as he calmly and kindly helped me through the situation. I seethed at the cost of the food (I had to endure getting the stuff, why should I have to part with money for the experience), paid and left, vowing never to return again.

Every time I have this experience I make this vow. I convince myself that I will no longer engage with these places. I will shop at the markets, bake biscuits, go to independent grocers, and so on. Sometimes I do, but often the time and energy is not there. I try to always shop at a butcher, fruit shop, and bakery to reduce the amount of spending I do in these conglomerates. But it is not enough, they remain giant.

I was having my supermarket rant to some girlfriends on the weekend. They weren’t as disturbed about the 'supermarket situation’ and pointed out that they are really the cheapest and easiest option for grocery shopping in this country.

And, they probably are.

But, that doesn't seem good enough to me, that price is the only legitimate factor. But, really, unfortunately for me, there isn't a lot of supermarket choice in this country, no, in reality there are only two (choices that is), one is called 'a rock' the other 'a hard place.