Saturday, January 13, 2007

Something That Would Have Happened to Me Were I Not Such a Stand Up Gal

Going to Safeway has become torturous for me. I would go to a cheaper store if Safeway wasn't so close to my house and if I didn't get one United mile for every $2 in purchases. Today I ventured out into the cold to go to Safeway for 2 items: Vaseline and saline.

I needed the saline because as I was putting my left contact lens in this morning, my saline ran out. Hence, I went to the store with only one contact lens in. This didn't really bother me because I've spent a number of months with only the left one in because the right one seems to get irritated.

I don't mind spending my money at Safeway because the location is so convenient, but there is one horrible side effect as described in the scenario below, which is what would have transpired today if I weren't, as I say in the above title, such a stand-up gal.

I walk into Safeway and am immediately greeted my Mili Vanilli telling me how I know it's true...oooohhh, oooohhh, oooohhh, they love me. I go past the baby stuff, looking for a particular Vaseline product that I was unable to locate at Rite Aid last week. Damn. It's not there. Where in the hell is the fucking Vaseline? I look around for one of those people who is mandated by Safeway law to ask me if I'm finding everything okay when they get within a 5 foot radius of me. Unfortunately, because I'm such a small person, if they hug the baby food, they can walk through the same aisle without breaching the 5 foot boundary, and so are not required to inquire as to my grocery shopping contentedness. (In secret, I choose to take this as a complement in their acknowledging my lack of a percheron butt.)

Just as Rick Astley beings telling me that he's never gonna give me up, I see one of those tweens with the Safeway (Member's Only) jacket at the end of the aisle. "Hey!" I shout. She is forced to turn and face me. Suddenly, I remember her. It's Tiffany. Tiffany. As in, her name is Tiffany. Tiffany and I had an altercation a few months ago when I went to the store and couldn't find a common product known to launderers and dry cleaners alike, known as Dryel. I believe at the time Debbie Gibson was getting lost in my eyes. I found the little kewpie working at one of the checkout stands. "I can't find the Dryel. Do you know where I might find it?" She looked at me as if I was an oompa-loompa. "I've never heard of that. I don't think we have it." She brought over a kid who had used more hair gel that day than George Harrison. I realized this store harbored a whole bevy of tweens, and they became the coed conspirators. "What did you say it was called again? We don't have that stuff. Why would we have that?" I couldn't believe it. This little rodent was causing my dignity to wilt. I overcompensated. "It is a very common product that is used to remove stains from clothing that requires dry-cleaning. If you don't have it here, well, then, you should." I pontificated as Debbie continued her pathetic croon.

Today, Tiffany was much more subdued without her pubescent comrade. I took the opportunity to show her who was boss. I was standing right by the hydro cortisone and hemorrhoid ointment, but I kept my pride. "I can't find the Vaseline." I expected her to look confused, then immediately round up a pantheon of assistant managers to locate my $1.89 product. Instead, she pointed directly below my line of sight. There it sat, staring at me, mocking me, collaborating with Tiffany to cast dispersions on the measly ounce of dignity I had left. Fucking petroleum jelly. Goddammit.

Fortunately, that did not happen today. Instead, I spent nearly a half an hour wandering through the aisles with the personal stuff (K-Y, tampons, etc) and the toiletries. Finally, I located my needed item just below the foot stuff, right by the Preparation-H and Cortaid. Yup. It was wise for me to have avoided Tiffany, although I probably would have given her a tip for her seemingly infinite tolerance of her elders and to mitigate that horrible music which they are forced to labor under the endless drone of.