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Monday, February 28, 2005

Uptown Girl

Today I had the worst grocery-buying experience ever.

We've been having trouble with our car, so after a few failed attempts of getting that bad boy started, I gave up and asked my sister if I could borrow her bike. She kindly said yes, and soon I found myself strapping on her helmet and throwing my leg over the side of the bike. The helmet was a little small. Imagine a rat wearing a thimble on its head. A rat whose longish hair jutted out from the sides of its thimble awkwardly. Before I got on the bike, I tilted it to the side to read the make and model. It was "Wilderness" brand's "Screaming Eagle".

So I rode to the grocery store, which only took about seven minutes. I locked the bike up and started shopping. On the way there, I remember thinking to myself that I should only buy the necessary things, because it would be a pain in the ass to carry a lot of bags home. Somehow within the first fourty-five seconds of browsing, I managed to forget this, and soon my cart was filled with two three-liter bottles of juice, a bag of apples, a large jar of peanut butter, and various other items. I paid for my items ($88.70), which sparked a realization: I am an idiot. $88.70 is way too much to spend on groceries that you plan on taking home on a bicycle.

I tried to organize it anyway, and I shoved the apples inside my backpack (which I thankfully had the foresight to bring), and balanced the remaining six bags divided evenly across the handlebars. I have news for those of you who think otherwise: carrying heavy groceries on bike handlebars is not the best way to obtain adequate steering on a bike. When I tried to veer, I jerked. When I tried to go straight, I veered. I made it about two blocks, managing to only run into a light pole with the bag containing corn chips, a bag of cookies, and a loaf of bread.

Then, as I crossed a busy intersection, one of the large juices burst through the bag and fell into the street.

"Fuck!" I said. "Fuckshit!"

Once I crossed the street, I parked the bike and picked up my battered juice. I shoved it and the rest of the contents of the torn bag into my backpack, which then weighed about thirty-five pounds. I made it the next few hundred meters without incident, but when I got to the home stretch, the coveted but very small jar of salsa I bought ripped through a bag and tumbled along the street next to me. I accidentally rolled over it with the bike.

"Dammit!" I cried. "Damn it to hell!"

Somehow the salsa didn't break, and I shoved it in the backpack as well.

I got back on the Screaming Eagle and started pedaling. I passed two cute girls who were walking across a single-lane bridge who gave me a look that you would give a retarded puppy as I struggled to climb up the bridge's incline. I resisted the urge to make a self-deprecatory but humorous comment. Upon passing the bridge, two old people stared at me as I swerved past them.

After about twenty minutes of travel, I made it home, and I treated myself to two apples and some peanut butter.


Blogger Christopher Zane said...

Your entry reminded me of the many harrowing events that I, myself have been through on that bick, some with groceries, some without. I feel that since I was able to relate so closely with your writing, that must be the explination for me laughing SO loudly, tears streaming down my face with abandon.

-Your Sister

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