Once upon a time people would hunt and gather for their basic needs.
They would spend their waking hours collecting food, finding things to keep them warm, discovering fire, inventing the wheel… you get the drift.
Then the human race became all too clever for its own good. It invented supermarkets. Places where others would drop off the basic needs for instant collection, thus freeing up the rest of one’s day for other pursuits. And so, time after time, we all decided as an evolved life form, to frequent the local supermarket to get ‘stuff’. And everyone was happy.
Delirious actually. Supermarkets necessitated other types of inventions, such as trolleys, inoffensive music, junk mail, loyalty cards, anti-plastic bag campaigns, 8 items or less aisles, in-store bakeries, a variety of packaging, sample ladies, mystery shopping … ah, the supermarket. If it had foxtel and a hot tub we could live there.
I, in fact, just about do live there at present.
BHG and the Glamazons are on school holidays for the summer and in my new world are to be renamed ‘The Locusts’. I’ve often heard stories from Brad the Tradie’s parents about the food consumption gene that persists in their side of the family. I thought it was just their sons that had the gene. Apparently girls inherit it too. And pass it to their friends. The gene’s development peaks in adolescence and necessitates the locust (s) grazing on all edible crops in the house, leaving only packets, dirty plates and carcases behind.
It was manageable around Christmas time. Quite handy actually. The locusts chowed through all the calorie-laden gifts from work (except the wine, that disappeared rather quickly). This was infinitely better than slapping the saturated fat and sugar straight onto my arse, although one gets just a little bitter watching glamazonian teenage girls scoffing all those delectable treats (“actually darl, it’s find to chew one Lindor ball before you shove another one in…. yes I suppose shortbread goes well with truffles and vegemite for sleepover breakfast…whatever, just take all the locusts back to the rumpus room so I don't have to watch…”). Also quite acceptable, admirable even, is the vigour with which the locusts devoured the annual stone fruit crop from the backyard (it all ripened at once typically… if we can invent all these other things can we not invent a plum or nectarine tree that just delivers a kilo a week for two months?)
Then, suddenly one day early this week, the food ran out.
“There’s NOTHING TO EAT!” Ahh, the phrase that sends chills of irritation through a parent’s body.
“Of course there is… have an apple.” (yes, I’ve turned into my own mother)
“Nope, none left.”
“Have toast!”
“No bread.”
“Cereal!”
“Nope.”
“Shortbread!”
“Nuh.”
“Camembert???”
“Dad ate it. Should I make something with that cask of Margharita mix? Is there any more leftover KFC?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake kid, if I have to get tear myself away from the cricket to come out and find you something to eat, I’m going to … (think… what AM I going to do???)… have to …. (quick… think of something…) make a bloody list and GO TO THE SUPERMARKET!”
And there it was. Tea break at the cricket (big Aussie comeback…) and I had to go hunt and gather. I could order online I suppose, like when we were doing the home Swiney quarantine, but it’s so… tedious, all that choosing and clicking. Much better to go to the actual supermarket and mindlessly throw things in the trolley without all that decision-making.
It’s like I broke the dam wall with that one trip to Woolies. Now I seem to live there, going back day after day, time after time, to just get a few things. Like salad in a bag to go with dinner. Or should we have lamb shanks? They’re on special. And a rice side-dish. Extra bottle of Pepsi Max, sunscreen… new dog collar… washing powder… why is it that once you GO to the supermarket and bring all this stuff home, there’s always something you didn’t get that is entirely necessary? When it isn't the school holidays how on earth do we manage to survive on one trip a week, or, god forbid, a fortnightly grocery trip?
Do you find there's always one item that HAS to be in your basket? For me it's Pepsi Max. Or a magazine. For Brad the Tradie is appears to be either carrots or cheese. Come to think about it, maybe baskets are the problem. You can only get enough to last until tomorrow, thereby needing to re-enter the supermarket. AHA! Conspiracy! That's it. I'm only using trolleys from now on. It works the rest of the year, so surely it also works during locust season.
With a trolley you assume instant power.
You are behind the wheel. Get OUT of my way. I HAVE A TROLLEY. We use a points system in our family for trolley usage. Ten points for a sample lady, twenty for a small child, subtract points if you selected a trolley with a wonky wheel or sticky handlebar.
The benefits of supermarket shopping with a trolley are endless. Just relax, listen to the muzak and chuck things into the cage willy-nilly. Mmmm, new flavour of tim-tam. Oooo! Pomegranate juice! Read the labels, enjoy the air-conditioning, read a few mags and nibble on a muffin from the bakehouse. It could practically be listed as a hobby. And shopping at Aldi is more like an extreme sport. Upper body strength, cardio... it's all there with a trip to this no-frills delight.
I have studied supermarkets on an international scale.
Supermarkets reflect a nation's cultural habits and attitudes. Australian supermarkets rate pretty averagely I have to say. We're a society of people who don't really care much for effort. Do you really give a crap which variety of Fruity-Bix cereal goes in the trolley? Who actually buys those varieties of 'funny' lettuce? We've only just invented a second flavour of Vegemite for goodness sake. I remember when crunchy peanut butter came out. My dad was so flummoxed he refused to buy peanut butter at all anymore ("don't know about this change to peanut butter Blossy, it's just not right, messing with something that was already perfect...")
South African supermarkets are a hoot. They're quite small and exclusive. White people go in, buy heaps of carbs and sugar and then throw money at black beggars on the way out. They couldn't use a better metaphor for their country's class divide than the supermarket.
In Japan everything in the supermarket is tiny except the apples. The trolley is tiny, like a basket on wheels really. The food packages are tiny. Like you want much dried cuttlefish in a packet anway I guess, but it's probably why these Japanese people are small. And healthy. The apples are enormous. You buy an apple for lunch, like a meal. Mmmm, what's for lunch today? Four pieces of teensy weensy sushi or an apple? You practically lose weight just getting off the plane in Japan. Kiss eating goodbye unless you're a fan of the sea vegetable family.
Canada, bless bilinguity, have French and English printed on everything. Don't bother reading a package. The print's so small to fit two languages in that you can't read it anyway. But you've gotta love a country that sells 600 painkillers in one (very large bilingual) bottle. That's a nation that trusts their people not to do silly things.
The champions of supermarkets have to be the yanks though. This mob have supermarket shopping down to a fine art. They have enormous alcohol and convenience food-filled buildings loaded with STUFF. The country of excess, indulgence and unnecessary items. I mean, really... 'double-bagging'? I could almost hear the world's dolphins crying as the check-out chick tried to improve my shopping 'experience' by throwing every piece of plastic onto our groceries. I did love the cupholder on the trolley when shopping at Von's supermarket in San Diego. Wondered what I would do with it until we went inside the store and saw the Starbucks. Yes, INSIDE the supermarket. And actually, come to think of it, once I saw the Starbucks (and knew I had a cup holder), it did make me feel like an extra-hot skim chai latte. To improve my shopping experience. Made me feel like a pecan pie, pop-tarts, bottle of whisky, enough Tylenol PM sleeping tablets to knock out a horse and all manner of unnecessary items too. Fun trip though, if not a tad expensive. Got heaps of trolley points too, what with me driving the trolley on the wrong side of the aisle. Hit loads of people in the ankle. A couple of homeless people in the carpark too. They use trolleys as a portable home, much like a snail. Fascinating culture.
I didn't go to the supermarket today.
I refused to be trapped by their basket-tactics, advertising and the locusts' begs for burritos for dinner. Nope. They can drink water from the tap and remember how fortunate we all are to live in a country where children don't spend their day trekking to the local well or harvesting a small crop of rice. As far as I'm concerned, they can all starve, just eat Vegemite straight out of the jar or crack open that can of condensed milk at the back of the pantry.
Until Saturday.
Or tomorrow at the VERY earliest.
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Time after Time, Cyndi Lauper, 1984.
