Welcome to the jungle...

There comes a day in every person's life when they have to face a dreaded place. You hate it. Everyone hates it... But inevitably, it comes, and we all have to enter those automatic doors.

You've just arrived at the grocery store.

Being a single person, I go to the grocery store maybe three times a year. OK, maybe five... if I need more ketchup or toilet paper.

But when those staples run out, I have to muster every bit of energy I have and every piece of good fortune I've acquired and head to the store.

In the small town where I live, there are two basic options for the grocery store: Walmart or H.E.B. Most of us always choose H.E.B. because we're snobs and we are loyal to our Texas chain. But on this cold Texas night, I thought to myself, "Where am I likely to run into the LEAST amount of my students?" and since I know that half of the student population of where I work is employed at H.E.B., I went with Walmart.

Big mistake.

When I got to Walmart, I should have known that luck was not on my side because I got the cart. You know what cart I'm talking about; the one that has its own mind and absolutely no steering capabilities, and leans a little to the right at all times.
I go ahead and press on... literally, I'm having to press.

Now is as good a time as any to mention that I had just gone running, so I was extremely sweaty and not at all attractive, which I thought would motivate me to move faster. That plan would have worked, except I found out that Walmart is not only the place that children like to hang out, but the place where every child that I have ever written up or sent to the office like to hang out. ALL OF THEM.

I have never been so discouraged to hear my own name, but all of a sudden, there it is. "Ms. Son! What are you doing here?" Gee, what could I be doing here? I did not write this particular child up today... but someone else did. He got his phone taken up for texting in class. His father then turns the corner, and as soon as preciousangel tells dad that I'm a teacher at his school, dad wants to tell me how he thinks it's "Absolutely ridiculous that my son got his phone taken up today! Do you know how much an iPhone costs?" But before I can answer him, he continues to rant about the phone. I want to interrupt and ask if now is a good time to mention that I am actually not the one who wrote up his child, but I just do a lot of nodding and saying the only words I know to say to him: I understand.

After this escapade, I remember that I did in fact make a list. So I begin to look for the bread. And then I realize that they have no bread. And if they do, they are hiding it from me. I start circling the same aisles over and over again, as if the bread will magically appear or drop down from the sky like manna. But I never find it.

I give up on the bread. I'll eat the peanut butter and jelly in a bowl. I don't even care anymore. I'm so sore from the cart... or maybe it was the run, but it's probably the cart, that I wheel it to the checkout lane. My only real concern at this point is that my right bicep is getting more of a workout than my left. I roll into the checkout, and I see that there is a woman buying all the ramen that Walmart has to offer AND bread.

I realize at this point that I could be taking a huge leap of faith and risking my pride to ask, but I figure it doesn't matter. I ask her where she got her bread. She looks at me like I'm crazy, which is fair... but where is the bread?

"The bread aisle."

Thank you, that was very helpful.

The woman checking us out asks her when she is due. She replies, "I'm not pregnant."

This is awkward. It's awkward because there are hardly any people in the store (minus my students, their irate parents, the non-pregnant lady, my cashier, and me). It's awkward because she just committed a huge social no-no and there is no way to recover. But mostly, it's awkward because non-pregnant lady knows that I heard.

Nervous laughter. I blame it ALL on nervous laughter. I have to turn around, and I just want to die. Melting into the ground sounds so much better than finding the bread aisle at this point. I try to pretend like I am interested in the cover of US Weekly, but it's covered in snapshots of pregnant celebrities. I just turn my back and pretend to be interested in my shopping cart. But it's no use. Thank you, cashier. You've just made this lady probably want to cry, and I want to evaporate.

It's finally my turn to check out. Thank you, God. I hope she doesn't ask me when I'm due, but at this point, anything is possible. She is very helpful. So helpful that she puts almost every item in its own bag.

I get to my car and place all 33 bags and 19 items in my car. I arrive home to see that my front door is open. At this point, I hope there is a serial killer in my apartment. Maybe he would help me take in my groceries. No serial killer and no help with groceries. I must have forgotten to lock my door. When I finally get everything put away, my friend calls. I start by telling her, "I went to Walmart tonight for groceries---" She interrupts, "Wait. You went to Walmart? Why didn't you just go to H.E.B.?"

I tell her that I will be going to H.E.B., tomorrow, in fact. I need bread.