.SOMETIMES RAW.

Grocery Store Etiquette! What comes to mind? Common sense is not so common after all. I had a rather lengthy conversation with a Billa-Supermarket employee the other day who told me some stories. I also asked this question “Grocery Store Etiquette” on Facebook a while ago and received all kinds of (weird) questions. Some things are very normal to me but quantum physics to others. Like, for example how not to be an asshole on the subway! I will answer the main, recurring questions here for you.

Can I remove individual items from a pack, like one can of beer or a single pudding?

First, you should know that it often costs more per unit when you do this. But stores have different policies, so ask before you crack into a sixer of Stiegl Beer. And what’s the worst that would happen if you got the whole case? Invite some friends. Make some friends.

What do I do with a piece of produce I dropped on the floor?

Put it back in the pile or add it to your basket. If it’s a more delicate item, like an avocado, take it to the customer service counter or hand it to the nearest store employee. Too embarrassed? Buy it and bury it in the backyard and hope an avocado tree grows as a reminder of your flaws. Or, I don’t know, eat it?

What’s your stance on sampling grapes or snacks from the bulk bins, etc.?

You can have ONE grape. Not a whole cluster. I’m looking at you! I don’t care if you just came from the gym and are bulking up! On grapes! If you want to try something, ask. Did you know that at a lot of major grocers, a manager will let you sample ANYTHING your heart desires? Yes, even off-brand graham crackers. But do you really need to sample a roasted almond? Come on now.

Can I bring 11 items to the 10 items or less aisle? Who’s really counting? 

I’m not counting: (insert spooky music) ONLY GOD IS COUNTING AND HE KNOWS EVERYTHING! #justkiddingnotreligiousatall. This is the honor system! Do you have honor? I don’t think 11 is a big deal; 14 is too far; 23 is outrageous. This is the only order we have left. Don’t let it disintegrate into lawless chaos like Twitter, lobster with sunglasses, the President, and Congress.

Is it ever okay to ride on the carts like a race car? 

If the aisle/parking lot is clear, YES. There are more dangerous things a person can do with a grocery cart. Once when I was a kid, I was riding in the cart while my brother pushed me as fast as possible through the outdoor garden section at the supermarket and I stood up and yelled, “STOP!” and he did. I flew forward, landing on my head on the concrete. And look how I turned out!

Please address the best way to abandon items you realize you don’t want/need, especially perishable ones. 

The road to hell is littered with vacuum-packed chicken breasts stuffed into magazine racks (a real thing I’ve witnessed). You know someone has to deal with that, don’t you? There’s no grocery store detritus fairy who taps it with her wand and makes it disappear. However, since 17 people asked this question, it’s clear we can’t stop leaving the unwanteds in our wake. Who has the time or energy to trek through an exceptionally air-conditioned labyrinth to return that wrong-flavored yogurt? You do. Return it! Or fine, hand it to the cashier and apologize.

It’s normal to take an empty bag of chips or an opened bottle of Dr. Pepper to the checkout line, right? I’m going to pay for it; I’m just hungry. 

This was divisive. Can’t you just wait to eat and drink after you paid for the item? Just please pay for what you snack on, and don’t leave crumbs all over the conveyor belt.

If no one’s around to help, can you climb the lower shelves to reach an item on the top shelf? 

Do you want to die under a fallen shelf of canned queso? Kind of. Go find someone to help! It’ll only take a second.

Can I leave the cart wherever I want? Someone gets paid to put it back, right?

Honestly, just don’t leave your cart in the middle of a parking lot on the theory that some poor store employee will be forced to retrieve it. You’re right — one of them will. But in the meantime, you’re adding more clutter to the already difficult terrain of the parking lot. Also, you’re increasing the odds that it’ll get stolen. Don’t let it become another cart of darkness.

Just don’t be an asshole! Happy shopping.

I am currently sitting in a coffee shop I have been to before, and I am feeling very present and charmed as if my cheeks were rosier than they ware. I am here to kill time because I am running ahead of schedule. I am also early to meet my friend and head to the museum next. Do you remember what that feels like? TO be early? To kill time? It’s very good and underrated. But it is a situation I have found myself in a lot since I started working again and really enjoying my weekends off. And when I discovered Siri and Alexa. I was always against both actually but now I am using them like real-life personal assistants.

I never thought I would say this but doesn’t it sound nice to have robots help you to sort misplaced thoughts, plays your favorite music in the kitchen while you cook and makes funny knock-knock jokes for my son? I set both, Siri and Alexa, to English so my son can play with it, too. Every random thought I have in the shower, every person I needed to call or have an appointment with can be scheduled and reminders set. All these things and so much more can be taken care of by someone who isn’t me so I can just live my life and sit in a café, read my book and drink coffee. Because noticing inconsequential things is the best.

Single-parenting, part-time doctorate, and full-time working is pretty tough at points so Siri and Alexa help me throughout the day. (Cannot babysit though). Siri organizes most of my writings, schedules, manuscripts, and appointments. Alexa does the rest. They remind me to text my friend to confirm the get-together on Saturday, to purchase a birthday gift for my son’s friend and to set the alarm clock early enough so that we could leisurely stroll there. Siri reminded me to bring a book just in case and Alexa told me that it will be 16 degrees Celsius, sunshine and blue sky. Also, to get a bottle of red wine and pick up the vintage decanter on the way home because it is the weekend. Bless her little heart.

I have been teased by a lot of friends about my increased use of Siri and Alexa over the last couple of months. But I think part of them are secretly thinking, “Maybe I should start doing exactly that,” and then they forget. Because this is what humans do. We forget. Which is exactly why I use Siri and Alexa. They are me without all the things that regularly foil my ambition and focus, such as forgetfulness, laziness or procrastination. They are me without the German/Austrian English Accent. I made them British so my son can practice proper English. And as stupid as it still may feel to you to endorse a vaguely creepy Apple and Amazon product, it works for me with consistent satisfaction. Do you want to know more things I recently used my personal robot assistants for? No? Well, I will tell you anyway, ha!

Recently at my house:

They told me how many ounces are in a cup. To research flights to Italy. To call my parents while I was washing the dishes. To tell me the exact meaning of the word “proselytize”. To remind me to bring a book to a coworker. To remind me when to meet my supervisor at university and to bring him chocolate so he is not angry because the paper is not done yet. To figure out the approximate value of pi which is 3.141592653589….. and then Alexa will go on for a bit and say: “Let’s stop this. Phew, this thing goes on forever.” My girl!

Some other family favorites:

Alexa, I have got 99 problems. Alexa: But a glitch ain’t one!

Alexa, howl like a wolf/bark like a dog/meow…. Alexa (makes the cutest animal sounds)

Alexa, will you be my girlfriend? (Worth a shot, right?) Alexa: I like you…. as a friend!

Alexa, how much do you weigh? Alexa: I am weightless, like a cloud. Wait a minute, clouds actually weigh a lot, so that’s not quite right. Let’s just say I am more sass than mass.

Alexa, can you give me some money? Alexa: Thing about the cloud is, no pockets. No pocket, no wallet.

Alexa, make me a sandwich. Alexa: Okay. You are a sandwich!

Alexa, do you know Siri? Alexa: Only by reputation. (ouch! I love them both even though they don’t get along! If you have nothing better to do, you can teach them to communicate with each other!)

Alexa, are you married? Alexa: I am happily single. (Again, my girl!)

Alexa, rap for me. Alexa: My name is Alexa, and I have to say, I’m the baddest A.I. in the cloud today. Your responses are fast, but mine are faster. Sucker speech engines, they call me master (this is just an example, she has several raps up her sleeve).

Alexa, what is the meaning of life? That depends on the life in question… 42 is a close approximation.

Alexa, high five! Alexa: I would, if I could, but I can’t, so I’ll chant: 1,2,3,4,5

Alexa, can you beatbox? Alexa: (Makes noise that sounds like beatboxing mixed with autotune)

Alexa, beam me up! Alexa: Okay, I’m not exactly sure where I’m sending you, but I hope it’s somewhere warm and sunny.

As dystopian as modern comforts can skew, and as unexciting as this might be to you, Siri and Alexa made my life easier. I am not saying I cannot live my life without them, I surely can, but I don’t want to. Overall, I am more organized and less anxious. Every time I address Siri or Alexa in the middle of the workday, my coworkers laugh, and you might be doing the same, which I will take on the chin. I am a writer and carry a notebook and pen wherever I go. But getting in the habit of outsourcing random thoughts has genuinely changed my life. With my mind constantly busy, observing and paying attention to things, I like it that Siri and Alexa free my inner hamster to step off the wheel of my mind periodically and take a nap in a pile of woodchips. Doesn’t this feel like a victory worth sharing, no matter how ordinary? What do you think? Would you give Alexa and Siri a try or should I see myself out?

The story starts over twenty years ago in a small town in Bavaria/Germany. This is where he grew up. The protagonist. I suppose every goddamn town around Munich is small as far as towns go. Barely sixty kids in his graduating class and you know what that means. Everyone knew everyone’s damn business. Everyone dated the same people, went to the same lame parties, ate at the same local Asian Restaurant. There was a bank, a post office, a library, a supermarket, and a small old, dirty movie theater. Hey, at least that. No mall, no good restaurant, no hospital. Nothing to do really. The most fun you could have was floating down the small river on a boat with some whiskey or beer. He didn’t have much of a choice now did he, because he was born there. He asked himself many times why people choose this town as a vacation spot.

He didn’t exactly excel at school. He was more interested in girls and listening to music. And writing and reading. The only class he really paid any attention to was English and German because reading and writing came naturally. The rest was basically struggling or of zero interest. Especially maths. Most kids were into sports but that also wasn’t his scene. A lot of his friends got out of town after graduating High school but he was stuck. Everything happened rather quickly. Days turned into weeks, then weeks into months, then months into years and time just flew by. Now, here he is, thirty-two, unemployed, depressed from a recent breakup, and living in his childhood bedroom with his parents. You think pathetic? He wouldn’t disagree.

There were some rather fortunate events, and he came across some money from publishing his first book. He was about to leave his mother’s house. His mother never had a lot of money, but she was able to take care of both of them over the years. The money he received was not a lot but it was a nice little amount enough to help him get his own place but not enough to live comfortably. That’s why he was on his way to apply for a job at the local 7/11 supermarket. He needed something. Anything. And this small town wasn’t really the land of opportunities. Bagging groceries and refilling shelves isn’t the most ideal situation, but it was real life, and that is what he was looking for at this point in his life.

So, he was on his way to the supermarket. He read an ad in the local newspaper that the store is hiring. He knew it because he wrote it down in his Moleskine notebook. It was 10 am exactly. That notebook was beat to hell but it has become his best friend. Everywhere he went, the Moleskine came along. He stood in front of the supermarket and entered. Inside the place looked like your typical supermarket. Tiled floor, jammed-up carts inside and outside and aisles and aisles or neatly and nicely stacked food. He walked through the front to pass the checkout area and make his way to the service desk where he met a middle-aged woman. Slightly overweight. Her name was Ronda [as written on her name tag]. Sassy attitude, lowered eyelids, and judgemental aura but basing a first impression on her physical appearance was not a fair thing to do. How can you judge someone simply by….. he thought.

“You apply for a job dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, baby,” she asked. “No, well, Ronda, I came here to fill out the application first. I didn’t plan on sitting down for an interview, ” he answered. He needed this job. The store manager looked at him, asked him some questions and the job was his without talking much about anything. “I have a good feeling about you. I believe in your energy, ” the manager said. “Well, thanks. How much money would I be making and what would I have to do,” he asked. “Ten euros an hour and you would be the floater”, the store manager answered. “I will be what?” “I will explain everything later but basically, you will be used for everything. See you at nine Monday morning. Bye.” On my way out he saw Ronda. “Bye Ronda, see you on Monday.” “Mmmmmmmmm-hmmmmmmmm,” Ronda replied with her fierce, strong, attitude. He loved her attitude because she gave no fucks and he adored her for it.

It all felt like a blink of an eye and there was Monday. The usual weekend-feeling. There he was and stood in front of the supermarket not sure what to expect from his first day. He was just happy to have a job and ready to get going. The first person he ran into upon entering was Wade. “Hello there. Good morning, Lady, ” Wade said to the first female customer after checking her out from head to toe. He was not sure what annoyed him more. The way Wade did this or his smile that was so constant that the front row of his teeth had become a permanent substitute for his lips. No one could be that happy all the time. Impossible. Unless you are on drugs. There has to be something dark lurking behind that grin.

Something was off with Wade, especially after he explained to him how he has to work on the different stations throughout the store. He was just a little bit too much into his job. Kinda like when you work a job in your teens and really give it your all and everything? When you really go above and beyond and take pride in what you are doing… .until four weeks in. Then you realize your job is completely demeaning. That your sole purpose is to blindly serve people who don’t give two shits about your happiness or future. Well, theeeeen your work ethic starts to slide. You walk into the break room asking yourself what you are doing here. Who the hell cares how fast you can change the oil at the local garage or who you impress by memorizing the entire menu at the Blue Oyster Seafood Restaurant? The store manager told him to start in Aisle 6: Cereal.

At Aisle 6: Here he met Roger. Roger is the guy who has been working twenty years not only at the same chain, but at the same godamn place, and he is still only assistant manager. For fuck’s sake, he thinks he is not even manager! Let alone the regional manager. Or director at this point. Just think about this for a second. He spent twenty years at this place and he doesn’t own it by now? Roger is the guy who wants to go nowhere but he will hate it when others get promoted. He never did what he really wanted to do in life. He is also the one who always makes excuses about how he would do something else, but he had other obligations, but money was tight, but this, or but that, or but you know how it is. And this is where people usually fuck up. As soon as they give a reason for why they cannot do something, they are already defeated.

“What are your dreams, Roger”, he asked him. “I have none. I will work here until I retire. Nothing special planned,” he replied while staring into the distance. “Are you serious? How the hell can you say this? You don’t have dreams? Places you want to visit, things you want to do,” he asked. “I do have dreams. I would love to travel. But how am I going to do all this,” Roger questioned. “By using your head! This thing on top of your neck? You can do anything you want in life as long as you believe it. It just takes persistence, determination, realism, and wanting success, ” he would tell him.

Then Roger looked at him and asked, “Dude, I asked you where the cereal aisle is to check if you already know, so, uh, how did we get into all this?” Then Roger stared at him blankly and walked away. He was reminded again that all this shit he just philosophized goes down the drain when he is surrounded by someone like Roger and the scary reality of working at this goddamn supermarket. The next moment he was back at stocking shelves with boxes of pasta. Penne, ziti, spaghetti. Pasta for weeks. While stacking, screams on the intercom. “FLOATER TO BAKERY SECTION ASAP!” He is a floater. As a floater, he didn’t exactly have a post or job. He did not mind because it gave him more ground to cover and keep things varied and interesting. For day one, this was all a bit much for him.

In the “break room”: He took notes in his Moleskine notebook. Observations. He is working on his third book. This keeps him sane. When he looked back up, everyone else stared at him. “New guy is a weirdo, huh? We have a writer here, Roger!” Ronda says out loud. Maybe he was. But he didn’t mind. He will always have books, writing, and reading, and knowing just that, lets him deal with anything. As a writer, being surrounded by literature made him feel at home. “Hey weirdo, did you read Lord of the Rings? Fantasy and shit,” Ronda asked. “Yeah, I read it,” he answered. Honestly, he cannot stand it. Let’s be real here; he knows the book is a masterpiece and motion picture and whatnot. Tolkien goes into sooooo much detail and has created an entire world with various races and whatnot. But fuck, by page ninety he was like, “Shit, couldn’t you have said this in like ten pages, dude!” The same goes for authors like Murakami. But see, this is the type of reader he is. He needs adventure, he needs something fun and fast-paced. He needs the pages to turn – suspense, sex, drama, violence, murder whatever it takes but just keep it moving.

Let’s get back to aisle six, shall we? Break is over. Ronda re-applied her red lipstick and put on a sweater. It looked like she knitted it herself.