October 13, 2005
Super Shopping Frightens Me
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

Whenever it’s time to “stock up” and venture out into the great, wide and always open super-sized store, I first mentally prepare by huddling with my purse and iPod for a moment of silence.

In many ways I am the anti-girl. I dread ‘shopping days,’ hate trying on clothes, don’t care to talk about nail polish colors, and the only good thing about errand running is practicing my soprano alongside Komeda or the New Pornographers; I’m not above using my voice in public, either, so consider yourself warned.

Having to shop in a super center is cruel and unusual, and they are always hyper-crowded. I often encounter two types of people there, both perplexing: the listless wanderer who stops suddenly before me, blocking an entire aisle to read a magazine or ponder life’s tricky meaning; and the competitive lunatic who beats a path to necessary items, highlighted dramatically in the frozen pizza section.

A funny thing happened on my way to the deli counter: a woman saw me eyeing the numbered-ticket machine (is there another name?) and slammed her cart into overdrive, charging full steam ahead and literally tossing me into the bread wall.

She sneered proudly, like she’d just secured the last spot in a Betty Crocker cook-off, and took her sweet time ordering 12 pounds of roast beef. I stood vexed and diminutive, and under my breath, so she couldn’t hear me, because I’m a chicken, said, “Don’t get your coupons in a bunch.”

After that encounter I headed to the post office, where two adorable (euphemism for pest) people held up the lunchtime crowd. One woman made the post office employee shuffle through every single stamp while she crossed them off her list of “collectables.”

Simultaneously, an elderly man was hoping to get his passport issued using a photo of himself circa WWII. The employee, patient and enduring, explained that the photo had to be current, and for 15 minutes they argued.

Do you ever feel like screaming in public?

I stood biting my finger between my teeth.

In my coffee shop the following morning, my sanctuary, I was approached by two smiling women. My immediate reaction was, “Oh, no, not a survey – can’t a girl find some peace?” but when one kindly asked the first question I said, “Wait a minute – aren’t you from INtake?”

She was indeed. Kimiko Martinez was out investigating stories before 9:00 a.m. Whoa: I was impressed.

She couldn’t use me for her story. No offense, but it was music to my ears.