last evening i went for a soothing shopping cart ride at reliance fresh. by the time i got to the payment line i’d shopped myself silly on milk, chocolate, tomatoes, frozen peas, cream crackers, cranberry juice, olive oil and two 40 watt bulbs. i’m pretty easy to please that way, groceries get me high on life.
so there i was, blissed out behind my shopping cart. i hadn’t used more than the percentage of grey cell necessary to pick and drop in the last 20 minutes. the cart steered me around the store and made itself even more useful by stopping in front of all the stuff i hadn’t thought of buying until then. all it asked was that i attach myself firmly and follow faithfully until i could fork up for all the fun. i really appreciate the mindlessness it helps me achieve, the shopping cart. it beats yoga by miles, though it doesn’t make me any bendier. who wants bendy anyway when all that’s between you and nirvana is a handful of cash.
or someone who runs up a bill for seven rupees and fifty paise. that’s what she paid, the woman standing before me at the counter. and though i almost got whiplash from trying i couldn’t get a look at what she bought. i really have no idea how you get in and out of a supermarket at that price. i’ve never managed to walk out with a bill for less than a couple of hundred.
nine bucks is the least i spend at a go. make that ten, because i’m usually in too much of a rush or just too well paid (ha ha, funny girl) to wait for change while the autowalla roots around in his pockets. everything else i buy costs more. unless you count the match boxes i buy and lose every day. matchboxes don’t cost money anyway. they’re the loose change you’re always cursing yourself for letting go of when you're stuck between a traffic jam and nowhere in particular.
but that’s beside the point. what’s driving me nuts is that woman and the stinking suspicion that she just might be on to something better than my shopping cart.
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