CHAPTER TWO: Grocery Shopping Is Torture.
I despise all shopping because my mother made a spectacle out of me when we went clothes shopping. My real irritation with “mother” though is much deeper. But, naturally, anything having to do with her seems painful now. And that would include shopping for clothes. “He has broad shoulders, don’t you think,” she would ask a sales lady as the two of them turned me round and round sizing up my look in a 1) car coat 2) V-neck sweater 3) navy blue blazer 4) etc. Of course, mothers clothes shop with sons all the time. So, as I indicated, my impatience with this had much deeper roots. We’ll explore those later. For now though we can trace my immediate hatred of shopping to those forays with mom. Grocery shopping in particular is agony but I can claim some allies in this feeling. Why else would Burger King hit it spot on with their TV ad from a couple of years back? In it, we see a man standing at the immense doors of an endless supermarket freezer, gazing at all the choices before him. We know he’s going to be there awhile. The voice-over: “Burger King…without us some guys would starve.” That’s me. And that’s why I’ve suddenly got weight to deal with. Older, slower metabolism plus mother issue with shopping equals fat ass on wheels. Grocery shopping with women is, as one would understand, the worst. It seems to take forever. Because it does take forever. When we arrive at the checkout stand, I hate every person there. I hate the checker who appears to be the slowest, most retarded person on the planet. I hate the chatty customer, so lonely and empty their daily exchange with people in the grocery store is a highlight. And I hate the parking lot and the search for the car and the loading and the unloading. And I know all of this is irrational, born of biochemical and psychological imbalances. I think sub-consciously I chose a career where the earning upside was significant so I might one day afford to not have to do any of this shit but pay someone else to do it instead. That’s why, when my economic fortunes took a turn for the worse a few years back, my hatred for all things human ratcheted up a notch. Next up-Chapter Three. My Hatred For All Things Human. (This is chapter two in the Phil Hendrie autobiography, serialized here. Watch for new chapters)
