Shopping at Harris Teeter
I’ve written about Harris Teeter before — for the uninitiated, HT is our local hoity toity grocery store. If you’re part of the St. Louis readership (50 percent of you are, btw) think Dierbergs on steroids. I like to wheel my cart down the wine and beer aisle just to run a wet, squeaky cart on a hardwood floor ’cause you could never do that at home.
I shop there, and not at the less expensive Kroger because of the selection and oh, lordy, the service. This, by way of example, is the drill at checkout:
- Do you have your VIC card? (this is the very important customer card, entitling you to discounts and loyalty bonuses like the fantastic gardening set I got this fall)
- Did you find everything you were looking for?
- Are plastic bags OK?
- Did you check your eggs? (This one slays me. They care! They really do!)
At the close of the sale they inform me I’ve saved $26.35, or whatever whopping amount I’ve shaved off the bill, just by using my VIC card. At this point, no less than two associates will offer to help me to the car with my cart. I’ve never taken advantage of this nicety without being nine and a half months pregnant. It’s just not my nature. I do appreciate being asked, though.
So today at HT I saw a woman I know. About half the time I see this woman, she pretends as if she hasn’t seen me. Sometimes, if I’m in the mood, I will yell her name and wave obnoxiously, determined to shock her out of her shopping cloud. Today I let it slide.
Everybody knows people like this; they want to be in their own little dream while they’re cruising the aisles. Maybe they didn’t brush their hair or throw on a clean t-shirt before they came to the store. Maybe they don’t want anyone they know to see what’s in their cart. I don’t know, but part of the joy of living in a town this size is kibbitzing with neighbors amid the frozen foods. I want to say hi. I want to be said hello to. That’s just me. So if I see you and am in the right frame of mind, you’re going to be called out, yeah, you loading your cart with Oreos and potato salad, you who looks like you were gardening and had the sudden need to pop to the store for some two for one gallons of ice cream. I don’t care what’s in your cart, I just want to say hi.
June 3rd, 2007 at 9:10 pm
Oh, gosh, it wasn’t me, was it? Because I would have talked if the kids would have let me.
I avail myself of the help to the car, but I usually have two to three children with me. When, on the off chance, I am by my lonesome I always decline.
June 5th, 2007 at 6:49 am
Well, I must say, the opposite reason is why I love St. Louis. I love being able to throw my hair in a pony, grab some flip flops, and head off to the store - where I can gaurantee no one will know who I am. In New Haven, where I’m from, you go to the market and must make small talk with at least 3 people. And since it’s so small of a town, I feel like every one judges: “Oh, did you see so and so the other day? She’s gained weight/moved in with so and so/got married/has a bun in the oven/insert anything.” I’m the one that would rather mind my own business, do my shopping and head home. But, if it were one of my friends that I saw, not my parent’s neighbors, sister’s friend’s mother, etc., I would certianly chat you up (and maybe even ask you if you wanna grab a beer afterwards;)
June 5th, 2007 at 7:16 am
No, Sarabeth, it wasn’t you
I have to say that there are totally times when I don’t want to talk or be seen but I will say hi when I see someone I know. It’s rare when I do an aisle dive and usually only for a good reason.