Karen is an awesome checkout chick. She glides groceries over the scanner effortlessly. Small talk, no problem. Coupons, produce or bonus card questions all in stride.
I shop for groceries in a couple of places. Karen’s store is my mid-line grocer. They are closest, and usually have everything that I want without the commotion.
“We’re starting home delivery for the holidays,” Karen announces. She’s sliding a green and white flyer my direction. “If you’re cooking during the holidays and forget something, we’ll bring it to you. Just call us.” Karen assures me.
Bleep-bleep-bleep.
Like, sweet potatoes she says. Four of them are whisking toward her. I like that about Karen: she sells the sizzle not the fine print.
When a friend from Australia wanted to see a typical American market, I took her to Karen’s place.
How would do I explain home delivery to Mama? A few years ago, she had a small stroke that affects her walking. Still she makes a point to visit the market once a week, typically on Wednesday, same as here mamma and her mamma’s mamma. Country people make a habit of caressing, squeezing, sniffing produce, thumping melons. Disconnecting from that is getting away from the land.
I don’t mind driving five minutes each way. I like walking the perimeter of the store. Deli, produce, meat, fish, follow me.
I don’t want the disappointment of seeing a scrawny – you name the item – in home delivery.
Besides, there’s Karen.
See you next week.