Tuesday, February 20, 2007

mr chandler, grocery shopper

Parallel universes exist, and they are somewhere on aisle 12 next to the nail clippers and eye lash curlers. Let me explain.

If you know about my new window, then you know I recently settled down in a new location. One of the things that comes with moving, in addition to trips to the dump and celebratory/sorrowful shots, is shopping at a new grocery store. There is a Vons next to the new location of my bank, and there is another one on the route I take to work. They are about 5 miles apart. Yesterday I shopped at the Vons on the way to work for some Jagermeister and baby thing, neither one for me, fortunately and unfortunately. I browsed a lot and made my purchase. Today I went to the Vons by my bank for some fruit (thanks Dan!), water, and stuff for veggie burritos. It was like shopping at the other Vons, but it was different. The workers looked very similar, but here they were older and plumper. Things were in the same relative area, some same aisles even, but flipped. I would remember seeing something yesterday, went to where I thought it should be, and it wouldn't be there. But if I turned around, there it was. It was a very strange day at the grocery store, and if you don't believe me, well, I forgot to buy beer. That isn't like me a all.

Here's the title explanation. I shop at Vons because of location(s) and that club card thing. At one of the previous residences where I still have keys, a roommate of mine applied for a club card. She used the phone number for the house, which was already attached to an account from the previous house I lived in. (Apparently I also collect phone numbers.) So now when I shop I put in my old phone number to save the cash. When the checker hands me the receipt, they look at the bottom, see her name, assume I must be her husband (what a poor judge of character these checkers are. Most of my purchases are of the alcoholic nature and I could be married? Well, it (didn't) work for my parents, so anything is possible.). Then they make this face, because usually they just checked my driver's license to make sure I am old enough to buy the things I buy, and my name is not "Mr Chandler", but they give in and say "Have a good day, Mr Chandler".

Strange times at the store indeed.


Whit said...

That's why I shop at Albertson's.

Don't worry, I bought beer.

billpinkel said...

I'm Mr. Ramirez, try Kiwis they're delicious

Deep Shit said...

You're welcome, Mr. Chandler.

Was that the last one's name...I can never remember. Giantfuckers, you know.