MAKEOVER UPDATE II:
the gas station is untouched. not sure if this is intended, an oversight, or on the every-11th-year cycle renovation plan. not that there is much to renovate, the paper towel dispenser is in working order, now if they would only be filled with towels. details!
although I can never get this to work...
I mean, I show my ID to the speaker, but it doesn't accept my pre-bitten apple as payment... kidding! but, yeah, it doesn't work.
biggest construction complaint? the placement of aisles is completely higgledy-piggledy! after turning the bend from the produce area, the aisle starts with number 5?!
don't worry, 1-4 are now at the back of the store, perpendicular to aisle 13. grrrr. I realize this is the superstore, but messing with the world's established numbering system is not negotiable. obviously #MeijerPrivilege.
in the construction aesthetic department... fewer creepy white curtained walls, the hand written signs/directions have been switched out for inkjet printed, Arial font size 48, ALL CAPS on 8"x11" color paper. these small paper signs are everywhere, sometimes pointing out the obvious, "the cheese wall is no longer here" and sometimes helpful, "aisles 1-4 are now moved."
we, the Meijer cattle, are still being herded through the front door. this means that jockeying for a parking spot close to the one gaping hole in the wall has turned the vast parking lot into essentially 4 rows of the "sweet spot" aka, lawless, uncivilized, savage territory run by the unforgiving Darwinian mantra, "only the fit survive." the wise elderly don't drive anymore, their senior citizen alternative is the SMART bus. the SMART bus schedule is hourly now-- releasing dozens of elderly near the entrance/exit. they exit the bus en masse, kind of like the wildebeest run through crocodile infested waters, hoping against hope that the odds are in their favor as they walk the 30 foot pedestrian vs. frenzied driver gauntlet into the superstore.
recently, my keen mind has discovered a flaw in Meijer's herd them to the center entrance/exit, scary as heck parking lot scheme, 2 words: garden center.
I brazenly park in the wide-open west (now empty) section of the parking lot, walk fearlessly across the asphalt jungle through the Garden Center entrance. brilliant, right? it's like my own private Bat Cave, the vinyl flower-sticker covered doors even swing open as I approach!
I'm not sure how long I can continue this genius move though, I saw the Pharmacy Drive-thru window attendant side-squint at me, suspicious-like, as I pretended to be interested in a concrete garden cupid-- is my black heart that obvious? but for years now, I've been establishing and painfully maintaining a relationship of trust with the Pharmacy department, so fingers crossed those pill-pushers don't rat me out...