Thursday, February 12, 2009
My decision to stop at the store was a whim. I knew that I had waffle mix at home, plus bacon, but that I had gulped down the last of my Sunny-D. So I stopped in the neighborhood Safeway to pick up the juice drink, but also got a carton of eggs, a few Snickers ice cream bars, a box of frozen T.G.I. Friday's quesadillas, all impulse buys. With my few purchases loaded in the grocery cart, I wheeled it to a check stand and settled behind a tall, buff Black dude. As I put my stuff on the conveyor belt, that very familiar feeling of supermarket shame came over me. He was buying fruit, bottled water, healthy stuff. My junk food looked unhealthy, wasteful, and worst of all: immature.
What's worse is that I experience this feeling nearly every time I visit this store. I've never felt it before, but something about this boutique Safeway with the sophisticated clientele always makes me feel like an overgrown kid with a horrible diet. Ah, yes, and here is the woman with the large tub of Haagen-Dazs, a Butterfinger bar and a six-pack of Wild Cherry Pepsi putting her items in front of the lean, mean, running machine and his VitaminWater, boxed couscous and pita bread.
But amid all of that, I can always muster up a minute feeling of superiority when I bust out my Baggus. They're colorful, eco-friendly grocery bags that I carry with me always. After living in New York, I came to assume that everyone despised wasteful plastic bags as much as I did, but since moving to marry-land, I've seen that me and my strict, no-plastic policy are in the minorty. I lost one of my three baggu's recently, and therefore have been on the hunt to replace it.
I've considered trying out one of their new, funky-colored designs. Or moving away from the familiar brand to another, equally cute, equally cheap bag.