An Open Letter to Superstore

I am writing with a heavy heart to tell you that it is totally, completely, over between us.

We had a good thing going, we did. But lately we've been growing apart. I've strayed before, we both know, but I've always found my way back to you. But this time will be different.  No matter if you have one kilo bricks of Cracker Barrel cheese on sale again for nine dollars or not.
But damn, that's a good deal.
But at this point, I'm feeling foot loose and fancy free with my cheese wheeling, and if I have to pay a few dollars more at Safeway, I'll do it, if that's what it takes to make a clean break.
And I even fell for your Joe line. I bought that argyle sweater that looked so cute. But later on, after that brief rush was over, I went home and put it on. That thing itched the fuck out of me.

But still, I went back for more, all in the name of cheap cheese and laundry soap. That deal you had on Gain, that was hard to resist. And so I stayed firmly by your side, though I knew in my heart that the line ups were getting longer. The aisles got all mixed up. The taco kits were in the cookie aisle, the corn by the ice cream. The whole thing was seriously messed up, and I spent so many days and nights wandering around, trying to find what I was looking for, sighing in despair, and at times- going home empty handed. I'm still not sure where the soy sauce is. Would it be so hard to keep it by the rice? Would it??
I believed for a while, that it was just happenstance that I always ended up with the one cart that didn't steer properly. I now believe that every cart is broken, with shoddy wheels.

And for a while, when the self serve check outs became available, I had new hope for our relationship. I thought, maybe, we could still make it work.

But today was the worst it's ever been.
The line ups were so long and so big and so deep that I waited  for over thirty minutes. Pathetic, I know. I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to the next, looking forlornly at all of the people you were serving before me while I read an old issue of Hello! Canada! But I just couldn't concentrate, despite the fact that they had a rather enticing recipe for a Christmas Flan. I was tempted to leave, right then and there. Leave with nothing but the clothes on my back and a dream in my heart. But no, I stayed. Stayed because I wanted that tub of sea salt cashews too much.

And after all of that?
You could give me a smile. A gesture, for returning to you. For waiting for you.
"It's pretty crazy here today," I commented, feeling the need to reestablish my connection with you, however fleeting, though I knew there were others. So, so many others, including the lady in front of me, who bought only bird seed by the ten kilogram bag.
And you looked at me, and I saw something there. Annoyance. Something vaguely condescending, and you said and I quote: "Ya, well. That's what you get when you go shopping on the last day of the month."
"Oh, really?" I asked, nicely. "That's a busy time?"
You gave a haughty laugh. "Payday. What do you think."

You want to know what I think?
Here's what I think:
I think that not every one in the whole bloody world gets paid on the same bloody day, and yes I know that I used the word 'bloody' twice there, but at this point, I don't even care about that.  And I think that if you KNEW, which you say (so condescendingly) that you did, that the last day of the month is a busy time, you MIGHT have found it in your heart to open more that FOUR check outs. And do you think that you could hire at least ONE of them that didn't make it look as though the zombie Apocalypse was, like, a real thing??

I didn't get paid today. But that doesn't mean that I didn't need to go out and get my milk and my bread and cashews and mini cheese quiches and a fine cracker assortment and three pairs of socks with Christmas hams on them and an animated bell shaped Christmas light display.

Anyways, you had moved on. Pressing that little black button until all my items were all crammed together at the end of the counter. "Stripe out" was all you said when I handed you my debit card. I hadn't even paid yet when you were pushing the next person through.
Our conversation was over.
I packed my groceries- if you can call them that- and walked away, feeling a sad, sinking sensation.
I knew I would never return.
The price of Gain be damned.

As an aside- if there's anyone out there jonesing to buy me a Christmas gift but is asking themselves the question: what to get for the girl that has it all (OK, I am sure that no one is asking that question), but I'll tell you anyways (mother) that I saw this saying and I would really like it on a mug:
"A metaphor is like a simile"
I love it so much and I really MUST have it. It's exactly the kind of geeky joke that I would fall for, head over heels.
Just sayin.
Christmas IS coming.