The Grocery Store Incident
Let me start by saying, I don’t have high expectations for grocery shopping. I’m not asking for gourmet samples or artisanal cheese tastings. I just want to go in, grab some stuff, and leave without having my sanity tested. But, apparently, that’s asking for too much.
It’s Sunday morning, and like every other New Yorker who has procrastinated for five days straight, I decided today is the day to buy essentials. I’m talking toilet paper, bread, milk—the Mount Rushmore of “I need this or I’m going to lose it.”
I walk into the store, and immediately, Tessa texts.
Tessa: “Grab some avocados 🥑 if they’re ripe.”
Me: “I’m not a psychic, Tessa. I don’t know how to tell.”
Tessa: “Squeeze them gently. If they’re too hard, they’re not ready. If they’re too soft, they’re overripe. Get ones that are somewhere in the middle.”
Me: “So, you want perfectly ripe avocados. On a Sunday morning. In Manhattan.”
She sends me a thumbs-up emoji like she’s just handed me the simplest request ever. Clearly, she’s never tried to wrestle with NYC’s produce sections.
I meander into the produce aisle and immediately regret my life choices. It’s a war zone. A guy in a Patagonia vest is aggressively picking through kale like it’s a rare Pokémon. A woman with three kids in tow blocks the entire banana section as if she’s guarding a national monument. And then there’s me—standing there like an idiot, squeezing avocados with the intensity of a jeweler inspecting diamonds.
Just as I think I’ve found the Goldilocks avocado—not too hard, not too soft—Chaz calls.
Chaz: “Dude, can you get protein powder? Not the chalky one, the good one.”
Me: “The good one? Can you narrow that down?”
Chaz: “You know, the one that makes me look jacked 💪🏼”
Right. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?
I attempt to balance my tiny basket of essentials while embarking on a quest through the health aisle, where every product promises to make me either an Olympian or immortal. I’m five minutes in, comparing labels like I actually understand what “whey isolate” means when Mark appears out of nowhere.
Mark: “Oh hey, you’re here too?”
Me: “Yup. Just trying to survive.”
Mark: “Same. I’m here for—wait, what was I here for?”
This is classic Mark. The man can’t remember why he walked into a room, let alone a grocery store. He picks up a bottle of BBQ sauce and examines it like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Mark: “Do you think this would be good with spaghetti?”
I don’t know how to respond to this. I’m not sure if I’m more concerned about the combination or the fact that he’s genuinely considering it.
While Mark contemplates culinary crimes, I head toward the dairy aisle. All I need is some milk. That’s it. How hard can it be? But the fridge door is stuck. I pull. Nothing. I pull harder. Still nothing. Great, now I’m the guy having a public showdown with a refrigerator door. A lady standing next to me gives me a sympathetic look but makes no effort to help. I get it—it’s New York, we don’t have time for each other’s problems.
Me (to myself): “Of course. This is how it ends. Trapped in front of 2% milk while people watch.”
Finally, in what can only be described as a Herculean effort, I wrench the door open, grab my milk, and turn to leave. But I’m immediately blocked by some guy doing a full TikTok dance in the middle of the aisle.
He’s filming himself with a selfie stick, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s holding up traffic like a one-man roadblock.
Me: “Excuse me, can I just—”
TikTok guy: “Hold up! I’m almost done with this take.”
This is it. This is where society crumbles. Over a gallon of milk and a TikTok.
After somehow escaping that fresh hell, I make it to the checkout line. I’m so close. I can see the exit. I can feel the sweet release of freedom. And that’s when Sophie texts.
Sophie: “Hey, can you grab some almond butter?”
Me: “Is that different from peanut butter?”
Sophie: 😐
I head back to the nut butter aisle, which—shockingly—has more options than a small pharmacy. There are creamy ones, chunky ones, ones with added chia seeds (for people who hate happiness), and brands I’m convinced were invented just to see how pretentious they could get.
Me (in my head): “So, this is how I die. Alone. Surrounded by overpriced almond butter.”
I grab one at random and sprint back to the checkout before anyone else can text me.
Finally, I’m home. I plop the bags on the counter, victorious, only to realize one glaring problem.
I forgot the toilet paper.
The universe wins again.
Life Lesson: Never assume a grocery store run is a simple task. It’s a battlefield out there. If you manage to escape with most of your sanity intact, you’ve already won.
