Meijer and the nirvana sick day

just one of the multitudinous joys of parenthood is the sick day. 

this is the day when your kid has to 1) go to the doctor's office, then 2) go get a prescription.

as any professional mom will tell you, items 1) and 2) listed above take ALL DAY LONG. heaven help you if you should have any other errands/to-dos on your list, even if you get the first 9am slot/appointment, you can't accomplish anything else. 

can. not.

even though the entire pediatric office visit was a long, waiting nightmare of shifting blocks of time between the waiting room and the exam room, the final outcome question, "where would you like me to send in that prescription?" made it all worth it.

"Meijer. the supersized, superstore, please." (teehee)

as those words lyrically flowed from my lips, it hit me. that one split-decision, that one insignificant choice between Rite-Aid, CVS and the superstore, just nudged me into the nirvana of sick days, the veritable cosmic alignment, nexus, balance of doctor/prescription/errands, and I made it all revolve around Meijer.

I couldn't get out of the doctor's office fast enough, anxious to verify my errand list in the car that everything could be done at Meijer... 🤞

*post office, mail package ✔
*redbox return ✔
*groceries ✔
*gas for car ✔
*gift card ✔

I grabbed a pen and wrote the final errand...

*prescription(!) ✔
  
*serenity whisper chants, om...ॐ*⃔ (Sanskrit, thx google!)

the newly remodeled glass doors whooshed open, I bolted for the pharmacy--I had a plan. 

since I was the adult, and keeper of all adult pieces of plastic (insurance card/debit card) I would slowly age stand in line at the pharmacy queue, then send my son out to the wide world of Meijer to take care of the rest of the errands. 

"ok, we need these groceries..." son looks over the 5 item list.

"what and where is bucatini?"

I turn around to point my son in the right direction, when it hit me... remodel!

I haven't yet memorized the aisle numbers in this supersized superstore! I mentally chided myself, "aisle numbers?! you don't even know where the blankety-blank redbox is anymore!" 

between my mind's chastisement, and my frantic mental map search of the superstore's redbox location, I peripherally hear my son's voice, asking more questions/directions about the 5 item grocery list.

I feel the inner peace dissipate from my soul as the nirvana sick day slips away.

despite the supersized superstore's shredding of my plan, I am a believer in silver linings. I regrouped, then spent the next 1.5 hours chatting with my son while we waited in line at:

*Meijer pharmacy
*Meijer u-scan
*Meijer redbox
*Meijer postal services/customer service
*Meijer gas station

when we finally pulled into our garage, 

"thanks, mom. I had fun with you."

nirvana. 

Meijer and the silence of the crazies

it seems that this Marsha Meijer makeover isn't one of those outpatient, recover over the weekend types. this recovery is a doozy. I think we're on week 6 right now. things are looking tight and pulled together in some areas, while even more areas are still sporting the plastic, ceiling to floor surgical drapery, giving a definite "we'll get to that problem area soon" feeling. the entire store is turned upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy, (any other madcap images?) and willy-nilly. (tee hee, snuck that one in for my Southern friends.) now, for, let's say, an amateur Meijer shopper this might be frustrating and confusing--but for a veteran professional such as myself, this Meijer muddle is a blessing in disguise.

sure, even as a professional shopper I wish the new hot pink faux lambswool back-support cushion inventory stacked in the aisles would get shelved and I could do without the worry of watching supposed-to-be-refrigerated-food sweating on a palette in aisle 14, but these negatives aside, there are a few perks.

staying true to my capitalist roots, the first perk is money, cha-ching! Meijer management is everywhere discounting meat, produce, cheese and nearly all other essentials. I like to call them the "pardon our dust" discounts. this little perk is keeping my family filled with the USDA suggested requirements of fruits, vegetables, dairy, New York strip steak and baby back ribs. then, as if that isn't wonderful in and of itself, when I check out--feeling smug about my obvious steak dinner with all the trimmings--I get a coupon telling me that my loyalty to this Meijer makeover will be rewarded to the tune of $5 off my next grocery bill.

wooo hooo!

are ya' green with envy yet? not quite? read on my hard to impress friend, read on...

to me, (a veteran of the Meijer grocery experience) the most important perk of all is the silence of the crazies. let that sink in for a minute--no crazies for the past 6 weeks! admittedly, I do not have the scientific data to support my theory, but I believe the Meijer makeover chaos has compromised the crazies' infrastructure, they haven't been able to adapt yet!

the guy who sniffs corn on the cob like it's a fine Cuban cigar is silently staring at the newly located Brach's bulk candy, probably wondering where he is going to get his next cob fix. the typically cantankerous pharmacy patrons are now quietly standing behind the remains of the red-taped privacy line, (ignoring the tiny, handwritten sign informing them of the new pharmacy location) hoping the great Pharmacist of Oz will throw back the plastic drapes and reveal a staff with a heart and a brain. even the frenetic mini-Bonaparte brats are at a loss as to when and where to throw a candy tantrum. nearly everyone else is wandering the superstore craning their necks, brows furrowed in concentration/frustration, and mouthing the words "where is...?"

basically, what all this means for a worn out Meijer veteran like me is that I can now indulge in a quiet shopping experience--even the tunes of yesteryear are squelched. despite all the physical disarray at Meijer, I'm sure (if I had the faintest idea how) I could silently slip into a yoga meditative state.

ohm. makeover. ohm.