What’s up @ the Tummy Temple?

 

WARNING! The following has no explicit language or graphic nudity. You have been informed. Read on…

I don’t know how you shop for food, but if you have followed any of these posts, I forage everyday. My cupboards are empty. My frig is empty.

So with the weather being nice and the sun shining and I was awake, I went to the Tummy Temple early.

Wearing the same clothing as the day before and before that, following the same path and seeing the familiar places and a few masked faces I tied up my pony at the usual stop sign and prepared to enter, what used to be a JC Penney where I would buy shirts and suit jackets and even a lawnmower that I couldn’t carry on my bike so I had to ride home and bring back a yard wagon to walk it back home, with the appropriate pandemic attire.

I found a zip cart and did not disinfect it with the potions provided at no charge by the Temple though I’m paying for it with higher prices. I do miss the folks who used to wipe down the carts before you could touch them, but those days are gone.

I shop for the same things everyday. I could probably call and send a list of the Puppywood’s account, but I enjoy wandering the aisles not so much of viewing the boxes and bottles of products but to enjoy the brief vision of humanity.

There is no shopping list but a wander around my items are stocked everyday. The produce is in the produce section. The chips are in the snack aisle. The frozen food is in the glass boxes that are cold.

Normally I can whiz back and forth and plop a bag full of ‘eats’ in my cart in a matter of minutes, but today seemed like the overnight stocking hadn’t been completed.

There is a caste system at the Tummy Temple. The one’s who usually are assigned to interact with the congregation to get their tithing are smiling, friendly and wearing blue aprons. They wear nametags but are difficult to talk to behind the plastic walls.

Then there are those who bring out wooden pallets stacked with boxes of replacement nourishment for the hungry. Some are distributors who unload their trucks and restock but most are company employees dressed in all blue shirt and pants uniforms reloading the shelves and taking up space on the thruway.

These roadblocks are not as common as the parked cart and the patron viewing the contents of the bottle or box and most likely on a phone trying to find someone who can make an intelligent decision on noodles or olive oil, but on this day there seemed to be many more blue coats, some without mask.

I’ve never stocked at a grocery store but have stocked the shelves at a public library. I think it is somewhat the same?

Find a vacant spot and place the item on the shelf.

From what I understand an average $9 an hour is not going to buy a home or maybe even a car payment, but it also does not require a college education.

Yet, we found out when the t-paper was missing off the shelves how essential these stockers are. I give them credit and space to do their work.

So I avoid or silently go around them if the space is free and when they are stacking cans I will come back later. I do the same for an aisle blocked by someone staring at a can of beans as if it is written in Latin.

I also walk the complete footprint of the acreage. Not down every lane for that would be silly but I figure with all my repetitions and detours I walk two-three miles at a reasonable pace. The Tummy Temple is also my gym.

Now there is another blockage I cannot avoid. ClickList!

It seems in this time of isolation and avoidance from others, the alternative is to go online, list your items, log off and then climb into your vehicle and drive to the designated area for your personal shopper to bring your request to your open trunk.

So the blue suits have filled what was an area that was to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or take a break from hiking into a logistics center. Computer screens fill hand held scanners and one by one carts the size of small cars are wheeled out searching request making note of items not found or alternative items. I personally have not tried this but wonder what the options are?

The only problem is these carts take up half the aisle. When the blue suit is scanning the list or trying to match the brand name chips there is a roadblock.

I have no problem about going around and coming back from the other side or even moving on and returning but there are more and more of these elephants slowing down my grab-&-go shopping habits. This could become a cultural change for me?

I first shopped at the Safeway that was behind the mall but that closed. Then a Hannaford opened in the JCPenney space and I shopped there. Then it changed to a Kroger and expanded to the space next door and I shopped there. I shopped through many transitions and a complete redecoration.

Recently I returned to the Cary Town area due to my bank being closed in the mall and noticed yet another grocery. In the block that used to house a Safeway and an A&P are now five groceries and no bag boys from Ukrops. You have to be from around here to understand that.

So here I am, constipated in the shopping experience because others are scared to enter the temple. Yes, the thought has crossed my mind to have someone else shop for me for chicken noodle soup is chicken noodle soup no matter the advertising.

There is also a campaign of picking up your shopping list and delivering it to your door. I’ve never tipped the check-out cashier at the Tummy Temple; no, let me retract that statement for one time when I was checking out and didn’t have the right coins or forgot my wallet I asked the lady to put everything aside and I’d be back with the proper payment. I climbed on my bike, rode home, found the currency and returned. Not to make a fuss, I got in line and waited noticing my bags were still there. When my time arrived, I paid the charge and gathered my grocery. Then I handed her a $20 bill. She said she couldn’t take it and I insisted for her courtesy. We parted never to be seen again. Did I tell you she was gorgeous?

So if this ClickList is going to become ‘the thing’ just like using plastic instead of paper or education from afar or cold pizza in cardboard boxes, then I’ll try and adapt. If my order can be delivered to my doorstep the way milk and a newspaper used to be then I’ll adjust to being spoiled.

Now if I can find someone who can bring in the daily meal, cook it to my liking and clean up the mess, eating would become a joy.

Maybe this is what nursing homes are for?