Category: Humor

6 People At The Grocery Store (Plus 1)

shopping-cartI’m not a shopper.  I don’t have a philosophical problem with shopping. In fact, I’m a huge fan of our consumer society. It’s just that I’m too many civilized generations removed from The Hunt to appreciate the joy of finding that perfect item — on sale.  This doesn’t mean I don’t shop — I do.  Every week, like my Cro-Magnon ancestors, I go out into the urban wilderness to claim my rightful place in the food chain.  It’s called grocery shopping, and in North America, it’s a mutant hybrid of a scavenger hunt, an obstacle course and a futile battle against stupidity.  Here is just a sampling of the moronic forces arrayed against us every time we venture forth to buy food.

My Real Name Is richard.petty\943 — Even before you get into the store, there are the people who think that, just because they have a video screen in the dash of their car, they can drive as if the parking lot is a RealTime simulation of Nascar Heat 2 from Playstation.

Where Am I? — These are the folks who enter the store and stop dead –as though they’ve just broken the Time/Space continuum and have no idea what dimension they’re in.
“It’s a grocery store.  That stuff on the shelves is food.  You came here on purpose!”

Me Go Here Now — There are the people who have no reasonable sense of direction, nor any concept of organization.  They stop in the middle of the aisle; back up, turn around, start again; think about it, stop, turn, bash into the cart next to them; stop, try again and then nonchalantly head off in the direction they started with.  And even though you get stuck behind these idiots three or four times, when you see them at the checkout, all they have in their cart is a frozen pizza, a package of disposable diapers and two cans of dog food.

Me Stop Here Now — These are the folks who stop their cart sideways in the middle of the aisle, tying up traffic in both directions, while they contemplate the pickles.
“It’s a condiment, for God’s sake — not the Bayonne Tapestry!”

There’s A Reason I’m Lonely — These are the people who ambush you into listening to a long-winded monologue that starts with the price of sugar, goes through the hurricanes in the Caribbean and finally fades away — somewhere between the guy next door who won’t cut his grass and the drug dealer across the street — but only because you quit being polite and just walked away.

OMG!  I Haven’t Seen You Since Tuesday — These are the friends who meet at the congested intersection of Dairy and Frozen Food, or in Produce, or — oh, hell, it doesn’t matter — because they invariably launch into a protracted conversation about how much they loved their vacation, how much they hate their vocation or Henry’s hemorrhoid operation.  You can’t get past them, around them or over them without pulling out a gun.  And on particularly bad days, Henry and his proctologist are standing there, as well.

And finally, just when you think it’s over:

I Forgot You Have To Pay —  These are the people who stoically stand in line at the checkout for twenty minutes; then, when it’s their turn, wait patiently while the cashier beeps every item — until, at the very end, they suddenly realize they’re in the middle of a financial transaction and start fumbling for their money.

The Wonderful World Of Socks

sockamore1.jpgLast week, I got a free pair of Sockamore Socks from Sweden.  (You can find their website here — Sockamore Socks.)  The how and why of them are a long story that involves my Tasmanian e-friend, Claudette — who, BTW, has a platypus in her garden. (You can find her blog here) a couple of kickass Swedish entrepreneurs, and my own big mouth.  Of course, we all know there is no such thing as free socks so I agreed to write a free review.

Full Disclosure — Although I love Nordic Noir television (Wallander, Bergman, The Bridge) and the Sedin brothers, I do not drive a Volvo and I have never been to Sweden.  Up until a month ago, I had no idea Sockamore Socks even existed, and Christoffer is not my brother-in-law.  And, finally, yes, every man has his price — but mine is a lot more than 7.5 Euros worth of socks.  Therefore, this is a completely unbiased evaluation.

The In-shoe experience — The socks did exactly what they were told.  The heels stayed with the heels, and the toes stayed with the toes.  Even after one complete (3.8 km.) walk around the park, there was no bunching at the instep nor nasty elastic lines around the ankles.

The Out-of-shoe experience — Again, the socks did as they were told, and didn’t try to escape every time I took my shoes off.

The Cozy Test — I chose two typically cold, rainy January evenings for the cozy test.  On the first evening, I paired the socks with Earl Grey tea, ginger cookies and a reread of Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man.  The socks performed very well and were cozy enough to keep me from running for a blanket after 50 pages — but not so cozy that I fell asleep.  On the second evening, I paired the socks with Pepsi, Doritos and a binge watch of Berlin Babylon on Netflix.  Again, the socks conducted themselves admirably, remaining uniformly cozy through the entire 5- hour video viewing experience.

The Static Electricity Test — Unfortunately, the socks utterly failed this test.  I repeatedly rubbed the socks on the carpet, trying to build up enough static electricity to zap my wife on the back of the neck while she was washing dishes — with no result.

The Notice Me/Notice Me Test — This is a very important test because what the hell’s the sense of having the coolest socks in the world if nobody notices?  I chose the grocery store, the mall and a restaurant for this test — and there were mixed results.  While grocery shopping on a busy Saturday morning, no one noticed my socks.  Likewise, walking around the mall for a couple of  shopping hours didn’t result in a single “OMG! Where did you get those socks?”  However, the socks were noticed almost immediately in the restaurant — where, luckily, the server wasn’t injured when she stumbled over my outstretched feet.

The Creative Use Test — Although the socks didn’t work at all in the Oven Mitt test, they entertained a two-year-old quite adequately in the Sock Puppet test.  Plus, in the Folded-Into-A-Ball test, they performed well at kitchen table hockey, get-down-from-there-you-stupid-cat (no animals were harmed during this test) and indoor hacky sack.

The Results — Overall, Sockamore socks do exactly what socks are supposed to do; however, they have two unique features rarely seen in the sock world.  One, they’re fun.  Normally, socks are like accountants: totally necessary and terminally dull.  Sockamore socks are not dull, and as you can see from the photos, I’m into fun socks and know the difference.  Two, and much more importantly, Sockamore socks are the perfect gift — not too expensive and not too cheap — with just the right amount of amount of I-was-thinking-about-you to make it stick.  Birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and even matching socks for a wedding present!  Think about it: for less than 100 Euros, you can wipe out half your Christmas list!  The best thing to do is just go to their website, Sockamore Socks, and get creative.  Tuck a pair in a fruit basket, or a Thank You card, or give the jerk at work a retirement gift and what better way to say “Get Well Soon” than with a pair of socks?  Let your imagination be your palette and see where it takes you.  Who knows?  You could end up even treating yourself to a little Swedish mysig.

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And now I’ve added Sockamore socks to my collection

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photos by Lady C (Carolyn Bourcier)

The 100% Spurious History of the Little Drummer Boy

boyI’ve always known that the Little Drummer Boy was put on this earth to annoy me.  However, over the years, I think I’ve been decent about it, and I’ve tried to be fair with the smarmy little bastard — but to no avail.  He refuses to meet me halfway and every year he sneaks back into Christmas, banging away on that stupid little headache-maker of his as if he’s God’s gift to rhythm.  “Hey, Ginger Baker! Give it a rest!  There’s only so much ‘pa-rum-pum-pum-pumming’ one man can take!”  Clearly, it’s impossible to negotiate with unreasonable jerks like the Little Drummer Boy, so the only way I can stop his Yuletide reign of terror is to expose him for what he is — a charlatan and a rogue.  This is The 100% Spurious History of the Little Drummer Boy.

Despite Claymation’s claim to the contrary, there actually was a Little Drummer Boy.  He was a small-time sneak thief who spent his nights picking the pockets of decent folk in the souks of Baghdad.  He wasn’t very good at it though, and after getting caught — a lot — he was told to either hit the road or become the newest member of the one glove club.  Drummer Boy skulked out of town on the next full moon and was well on his way to anonymity when he ran across the Three Wise Men who (as everybody knows) were on their way to Bethlehem.  LDB travelled with them for the next several days, shamelessly fawning and groveling in the hope of gaining their trust and getting his mitts on some of their treasure.  Unfortunately, wise as they probably were, when it came to street smarts, the Three Wise Men weren’t exactly the sharpest scimitars in the desert, and they fell for this blatant con.  Drummer Boy made off with a jar of frankincense and headed for Damascus.  The Three Wise Men journeyed on — just a little wiser and one jar of frankincense lighter.  However, rather than admit they’d gotten scammed by a petty little crook, the Wise Men decided to rework the story in a more favourable light and so emerged the tale we know today — “pa-rum-pum-pum-pum” and all.

And what happened to the Little Drummer Boy?  He was arrested for selling stolen frankincense, convicted and sentenced to 10 years hard labour in a Damascus prison — which is exactly what the treacherous little bugger deserved.

And, BTW, many people believe “The Little Drummer Boy” was written, in 1941, by Katherine Kennicott Davis, a mild-mannered New England music teacher.  This is not true.  The song was written by Nazis — flesh-eating, green-saliva Nazis — who were trying to undermine our morale during World War II.  Just sayin’!