Friday, July 17, 2009
Grocery Hopping: verb. Grocery shopping with small children as you hop from aisle to aisle trying to keep the kids entertained and within reach.
We get pretty regular thunderstorms this time of year. There must have been a 2-for-1 special in the sky today, because we got hit, then hit again. But between hit 1 and hit 2, we needed to go grocery shopping. So we got everyone in the car (grocery shopping is family experience with us), and headed out, watching the dark clouds making progress towards us.
We got to the store and tried to do a mad dash to get out before the next storm wallops us. Husband and I were both grabbing what we needed and tossing it in the cart, splitting up to different aisles, meeting back up again a short time later with armfuls of necessities.
Husband went to select meat with Monkey Son #2 strapped in the cart, and I took Monkey Son #1 down the way to get fruit. He started begging for berries. Oh, look, blueberries are on sale! Here ya go. Monkey Son #1 clutched the precious perforated plastic container of blueberries while yelling about the blueberries across the produce section to Husband, who had just passed us with Monkey Son #2.
(With me so far?)
I told Monkey Son #1 to quiet down while I grabbed the rest of what we needed in the produce section, and met Husband and Monkey Son #2 again at the head of the aisle. Monkey Son #1, still ridiculously excited about the blueberries
not gently laid
into the cart. The package is not sealed by any sort of sticker and it burst open and suddenly it was raining blueberries. All over the cart and the raw meat and the floor.
We scrambled to pick them up and get them back into the container. Husband directed me to customer service, and told me to tell them what happened, that we'd pay for them, and we didn't want them.
At customer service, the man and woman (not a couple) in front of me and the employee were merrily talking about their children and their children's hair color. After some time of this chatter, it was my turn.
"Two boys," I said, taking up the conversation where the previous people had left it. "One is blond, one is a redhead. The blond one threw these into the cart and it opened and spilled blueberries everywhere."
In the end, I ended up paying for them (although I think she was ready to give me a refund damage receipt so I could get another package, but remember the storm? We're in a hurry here).
And when we got back, Monkey Son #1 looked at us and said, "Did we get blueberries?"