. . .
⬆︎ those are my pondering dots.
you've read this post's title, so now the dilemma is-- how do I unpack that day of personal infamy? maybe I'll begin with a date stamp...
December 23rd, 2020
for the record, I had already made 3 Meijer visits over the previous 2 days, but still had to make another $186 trip to the superstore. #sonofanutcracker!
I finish loading my cart, thrilled to make my way through the holiday-busy, 6' socially distance store, when I realize that all the people/carts I'm trying to navigate around aren't just annoyingly browsing in the aisle's walking spaces--they are parked; as in, waiting in line for one of the four cashiers!
I make a u-turn from the ridiculously few "real" cashiers, and begin the daunting task of weaving through men's unmentionables, plus-size leggings, and holiday sweaters, towards the 12 items or less u-scan--all the while simultaneously reviewing my cart's contents; hoping beyond hope I can shed dead weight and turn my 12 x 12 items into... fewer than that.
before I toss items willy-nilly from the cart, a hard reality check smashes into my dead weight fantasy. the u-scan line snakes through plus-size, active-wear and ends in SHOES!
another course correction. I've resigned myself to an actual cashier, I face the next insane line of people, it's worse than I originally thought.
I give myself a quick mental pep-chat: I'm no Meijer noob, I'm a pro with 15+ years of experience. Meijer can't out think, or out creative me! (poor mind grammar, but sometimes that's how pep-chats go).
I make a recon run, analyzing, running the numbers, Meijer sheep customer patterns... and that's when I found it-- the hidden short(ish) line in the over-priced candle and tissue paper aisle. I swoop in, ignoring the stares and jaw-droppers when they realize the massive coup d'etat I just pulled off. 💪🏼
the older hippie-guy in front of me turns to lean against the shelving, gives me a once-over with a "in-the-secret-aisle-know-nod" and proceeds to work on his phone's candy crush game... with the l o n g e s t (natural) yellow/grey fingernails I have ever seen on a man-human... at Meijer (I've lived in Taiwan).
not gonna lie, warning sirens nagged my mind. I ignored them, sure that getting out of Meijer was the ultimate goal. still... another quick scan of Mr. Nine Inch Nails (NIИ), revealed beard with food crumbs, unzipped jeans (👀!), Birkenstocks, and the same yellow/grey fingernail theme, but on TOES!
with sweaty palms, I wipe my clammy forehead, head spinning, my oversized Carhartt hoodie feels like an electric blanket powered by lava.
an unhelpful image flashes through my mind: me sitting in a poorly-lit cement-floored basement, a loose circle with fellow therapy patients, as I recite: "hello, my name is tracinell, and I have an irrational fear of vomiting in public."
I shake my head, willing the premonition away, but that shake ripple-effects into a tsunami wave of nausea through my overheated system. I'd kill for a sip of water, or a cool breeze.
refusing to be forced into therapy by Mr. NIИ--I resolve to leave the now claustrophobic-secret-aisle, and head for the 45 minute wait line, but with safety in numbers. just as my damp palms grab the cart handle, my sense of surgical-masked smell is sucker-punched by a horrific stench of body odor. I'm trapped! a mani/pedi phobia in front of me (with beard brunch and unzipped jeans), and an obese maker of stinky-human-cheese-in-the-folds-of-his-skin behind me!
my personal vomiting nightmare ramps up several notches to living HELL level; I white-knuckle death-grip the cart handle, clamping down the impending stomach heaves. I lean over, head between my arms, hoping there's a breeze below the waistline that hasn't been putrified yet, but not so low that gravity will just pull the vomit from my churning stomach.
full-on praying now, I glance to the left and stare at the wall of tissue paper. a glimmer of hope that if public vomiting is my destiny, at least there is something to soak-up the shame with.
a warm breeze of putrid stinky body cheese wafts between the folds of my medically-enchanced-paper mask. my head swivels to the right, I blurry-vision, but somehow make out rows, and shelves, of hyper-fragranced candles.
in a flash, I am tearing off candle lids, mask-filter inhaling pumpkin nutmeg pie, candle fireside, lilac blossoms, sparkling cinnamon, frasier fir, banana walnut bread, creamy vanilla swirl... my face half an inch from candle wicks as I inhale-gulp.
the line moves; a classic good news/bad news scenario. I'm leaving the tunnel-like aisle, but still have the same human-ickiness in front and behind me. I avert my eyes from the troll toenails hanging over the birkenstocks, and grab the biggest "to-go" candle I can find; I position it directly under my masked-nose.
after a few deep vomit-taming breaths, I glance up to see frightened Mr. NIИ staring at me. he nudges his cart forward to a 6' 3" distance. with the candle pressed against my sickly-green face, I tempt fate and look behind me. Stinky Cheese Man pulls his cart back to a 6' 6" distance from me.
beyond grateful for my portable, waxed Christmas-Eve's-Eve miracle, I glance at the name of the candle, "Life's a Breeze."
