Have you ever had an accidental shopping buddy? They arrive at the grocery store within minutes of you, and your cruising algorithms fall into step with each other's. Up and down the aisles you go, accidentally winding up in front of the pickles at the same time as each other, simultaneously selecting salad greens and jelly. It is often an interesting glimpse into the life of a complete stranger.

I had a whole family as accidental shopping buddies today: a tall, square shouldered youngish man and his wife, their small daughter, and the woman's sister. The man was a bit loud, and I gathered that he was a recently decommissioned officer, a Marine, home (hopefully for good) recently. He and his wife and sister-in-law were engaging in the plebeian task of grocery shopping, but they were having more fun at it than I have had in a good long time. Although finding myself in the same aisles as them every single time, we were on alternate routes, so our carts crisscrossed each other's about ten or twelve times.

Each pass, I couldn't help but overhear snips of their conversation, patches of laughter seemingly out of place in the sterile red-and-white of our local Meijer. I never caught exactly what was so funny- maybe it was several things- but I did hear them prank calling another relative on their cell phone, then roaring in laughter at the result of this.

In the pasta aisle, something tickled their funnybone so bad that they literally startled the entire aisle of shoppers with their laughter. It wasn't raucous or drunken laughter, just pure fun with a touch of insanity. The man laughed until he had to wipe tears away from his eyes, a full-bodied belly laugh that I can still hear.
I ran into them again, five minutes later, standing in front of the yogurt. The man had just finished another good hearty blowup of hilarity and was once again wiping tears from his eyes. He shook his head, passed a thick hand over the small circle of hair on top of his head, and mumbled the quietest thing I'd heard from him yet:

"God, I hope I don't have to go back."
His wife sobered and put her hand on his arm, her lips white. I grabbed blindly at a container of cottage cheese and darted down another aisle.

I hope he doesn't have to go back either.

I've laughed like that before, and it was only after a particularly nightmarish time in my life. The laughter cleansed the past weeks away, veiled the worries that still lay hidden inside my soul, and drowned memories.

Who knows what horrors that man saw. Who knows what emotion he's been through, what panic greeted him every morning. I don't even know if he was in Iraq. I know nothing about him beyond what I gleaned by accident. All I know is that he is home, and he is safe, and he is healthy. He has his wife and his child back, and a cell phone on which to make prank calls. He has cereal and yogurt and barbeque sauce and cheese and Ziploc bags- synonymous of normalcy. He has laughter that masks any terror that he might not be able to talk about yet.

Wherever you are, belly-laughing decommissioned Marine: I thank you for your service to this country. I don't agree with the war anymore, haven't for a few years now, but I appreciate each and every person who has trudged through the sand and mud and sun to honor the commitments that they made.
I hope that you come back safe, with your families and your world intact.
I hope that this nightmare ends soon and none of you have to go back over there, ever.
And I hope that when you come home, that you are able to laugh just a little bit softer, knowing that there are no terrors to drown out any more.

Labels: groceries, grocery, home, hope, Iraq, laughter, Marine, Marines, return, Semper Fi, Semper Fidelis, shopping, war

I almost did it. Today, after weeks- nay, months- of a difficult boycott I almost caved.

We had been getting more and more tired of Wal-Mart over the past few years, the endless aisles of cheaply manufactured goods, the regrettable customer service, the negative impact on the economy. A friend of ours held a job there for a few months, literally scraping the bottom of the barrel for employment. The pure abuse he suffered as a human being and a man was disgusting.

Then, late last winter, I snapped. I was shopping for luggage. My husband had a business trip coming up, and I and our oldest daughter were going to be accompanying him to London, expenses paid! Out of pure habit, I hit the local Wal-Mart in search of affordable suitcases. I shouldered my way into the store, past the proletariat crowd lingering at the snack bar, past the utterly disinterested non-greeter standing in the entrance, past the cashier gossiping in front of the self-scans. Obese women waddled in droves down the housewares aisles, fat rolls visible through thin stretch pants purchased on previous outings.

Every time I set foot in that store I felt a little bit stupider, a little bit less human. Every time I wandered the aisles, slack-jawed and confused, I left feeling disoriented, muddled, and taken advantage of. This time was to be no different, more than likely. I found my way to the luggage aisle and stared in disbelief at their selection. Two kinds of suitcase stared back at me- black and ugly, and ugly and black. One was already falling apart on the shelf. I already owned an ill-made ugly black suitcase, bought at the same lousy store two lousy years ago. I needed an extra one for myself for the trip, and my 8-year old needed a nice kid-sized one. Swiveling my head a bit to the side, I perused the selection of children's luggage. We had a choice of Dora the Explorer and Bratz. That's it. Kid #1 is to old for Dora, and no child of mine will ever be in possession of anything to do with spoiled preteen Valley girls, especially spelled wrong. Sure, there was some obnoxious, bright-colored boy's choice, Spiderman or some such rot, but it was just plain ugly.

A sudden flash of anger swept over me. Who were they to dictate to me that my kid was forced to choose between the lesser of two mindless evils? Who were they to foist one more shapeless and colorless suitcase on my household? I looked around at the other people shopping- every one was buying cartloads of things, things that they may or may not need, things that looked the exact same as the things everyone in every other state was also buying. I remembered vividly Madeline L'Engle's characterization of IT, the force that controlled and modulated the entire population of the city and beyond. Here I was, being controlled by a huge nameless faceless corporation that is so interested in character licensing that a kid can't even get a solid color suitcase.

Trite? Sure. But I walked out of that store and went somewhere purchased a bright red, leather-trimmed suitcase with nice detailing and excellent craftsmanship. Kid #1 got a brilliant lime-green rolling suitcase with matching tags, and they have served her well in the past year.

And then I started to learn about the company that is Wal-Mart. I learned about their numerous abuses of employees, their shameless corporate tactics, their utter disregard for the conditions of the third-world laborers that make their garbage, their ill-treatment of a customer that they hurt... the list goes on for pages.

So we stopped shopping there. It was hard at first, the convenience of everything I 'needed' in one place had become so sweet that I almost went through withdrawals for a few weeks. But after a while I noticed that I wasn't so grumpy when I came home from shopping. I noticed less 'things' cluttered my shelves and littered my house, and I just felt better. No longer was my pitiful little budget supporting a giant corporation. I know, I know, my money stills goes to other major corporations (Meijer, Target) but we are weaning ourselves off little by little.

Sometimes it was almost fun to find other places to shop at, planning out a path that would take me by Jo-Ann fabrics and Meijer in the same day.

But then we moved back to Cadillac. There's nothing here to speak of, now that Wal-Mart has taken over. The old Ace hardware, with their 'helpful hardware guys' and rows of well organized nuts and washers- they closed up and moved on years ago. The little fabric shop went out, then Snyder's shoes, then the local mom and pops that sold this and that. We do most of our shopping now at the local Meijer, which, although still a large corporation, is a Michigan-based company with somewhat better employee standards. They also support local farmers, something Wal-Mart does not do. Maybe that explains their outstanding produce selection and quality. So I feel a bit better about spending what little I have in Meijer. But now I am not within a 20 minute drive of Trader Joe's, Hobby Depot, and Target. We order off the internet more than ever, and eat from the local farmer's market when it's in season.

Money is not quite as free-flowing this year as it was last. We struggle now to make ends meet, once again. When I had the need of some extra clothing yesterday, I somehow found myself in Wal-Mart, scrounging the $9.00 clearance racks and the so-called 'career wear' section. I'm no fashion maven, but the styles hanging stiffly off the racks depressed me. I threw some clothes in a cart and went to try them on in the tiny, dingy little cattle stalls that pass for fitting rooms. The first outfit- great on the rack- was horribly cut and made me look like a piece of furniture. Of course, with my figure, this could happen anywhere.

Five- six- seven articles of clothing wound up back on the hangers, rejected. Poorly cut, poorly made, scratchy material, plunging necklines. I realized then, what the sinking feeling was in the pit of my stomach- it was defeat. "Ha!" crowed the Big Box store, "You think you can get away with boycotting ME? Have I got news for you!! I will systematically undercut every other business in this country until you have no other recourse than to shop from me!! Bwahahahaha!"

Ok, so I didn't actually have a conversation with Wal-Mart. I walked out, forever, hopefully, and got into my car and drove to a store that carries overruns and closeouts. I spent my paltry $20 on a well-made shirt from last year's design line and left happy, with most of my dignity intact.

But they almost got me. Not this time, guys.

Labels: boycott, commerce, shopping, walmart, walmart boycott

Don't you hate it when the Salvation Army bell ringers change shifts while you're shopping? You toss them a five on the way in, thanked by a shivering smile and nod...

You do your shopping, wander back outside and notice the ting-a-ling-ling getting just a bit more vigorous with the door opening. Complacent, almost smug in the fact that you've already given, you move your head to nod in the direction of the red-clad Army ringer. But- it isn't the same guy! It isn't even a guy this time, but a stout, grim-faced woman, intent on getting a donation from you.

Your mind whirls frantically- maybe you should have given after your shopping instead of before. Maybe you should just give a dollar (or a quarter, depending on what miserable retail job employs you this year) on your way in but save another dollar (or quarter) for the way out. Maybe you should forgo charitable donations altogether and invest in Google stock. Maybe you should make a mad dash for the ringing bell, scaring the woman into submission.
You glance at her again, facing the gimlet eye directly. She has sized you up- the iPod, the leather jacket, the cell phone attached to your ear. Surely you could afford a dollar to drop in the little red slot. You attempt a smile, duck your head, pretend to dig in an empty pocket.
You've made it past, your car is even visible from here. It's all behind you now, and you've vowed once again not to let it bother your soul. The car clicks comfortingly as the doors unlock, the doors that were locked to protect against people such as the red donation buckets go to help. You toss your packages into the trunk and are just about to slide in your seat when a voice rings out somewhere behind you, in the distance,

"Merry Christmas!"

Labels: charitable giving, Christmas, salvation army, shopping