Scourge of the Supermarket

Carolyn J. Rose

You know who they are.

But do they?

And if they do know, do they see any reason change their ways?

I’m talking about people who hold up progress. Not progress on the scale of bridge building or highway construction, but progress checking out of a supermarket in a timely manner.

Being a Virgo and loving to make lists and check things off, I’m well prepared for the weekly hunt for provisions. I even go so far as to structure my list to match the layout of the store. That way I can zip through the aisles without having to backtrack. I can get the chore done faster.

Unless I hit a roadblock at the checkout stand.

Those roadblocks aren’t always obvious. They certainly don’t wear signs advising those in a hurry to detour around them. In fact, some might resent being passed by the more aware and organized.

So, congratulating myself on my progress so far, I unload my groceries. And, being a Virgo, I have a system for that as well. Frozen foods go together, refrigerated items gather in a pack, fruits and vegetables clump together, cans line up in military fashion, and then eggs, bread, and bags of chips take up positions in the rear. I place my cloth grocery bags at the front of the line, get out my debit card, and—

Progress comes to a screaming halt.

The shopper ahead of me seems stunned, not by the tally, but by the concept of having to pay. This shopper—who may be any gender, any age, or from any background—peers at the display, and peers at the groceries piling at the end of the moving conveyor belt. The checker repeats the total and, at the speed of a barely awake sloth, the roadblock shopper digs for a wallet. Then dithering begins in earnest. The roadblock shopper considers paying with a card, wonders if he or she has enough cash, counts out bills and coins, decides to use the debit card after all, ponders a mix of cash and card, then speculates about using a credit card instead.

By this time I’ve passed through frustration and low-level rage to considering whether a jury would convict me for what I’d like to do. Next, I fight the urge to walk away, to do without the items I so carefully set on the belt.

Sympathy for the checker keeps me in place. This is only an occasional problem for me, but not for the person running the cash register. There will be other roadblock shoppers unloading their carts—maybe within an hour, maybe before the end of the day, and definitely in the days to come.

Because they’re out there. Not only at the supermarket, but at movie theaters, coffee shops, bookstores, food carts, and many other places where money exchanges hands.

And the next time you think you’re making progress, one might turn up in front of you.