Autopilot

I've been grocery shopping for a few years now.

Even before I was married and still living at home, it was my work responsibility to do the shopping for the day care's hot lunch program. Lunches and snacks for 22 children, 5 days a week. I had one hour a week to do the shopping. I learned to shop quickly and to stay within a strict budget.

Fast forward 20 years or so and I'm still shopping quickly and within a budget. Just not for 22 children. Although, the way The Boy is eating lately, it's starting to feel like I'm shopping for at least 10.

Enter Stupidstore. Someone, who I'm sure has a fancy title and is very important, recently decided to move every flipping item in their store to a new location. Except the milk and eggs. And the bread. Ok, the deli department looks the same too. But everything else has been moved around. Even stuff that's in the same aisle as before has been switched to the other side. (For those of you who don't know what a Stupidstore sells, it sells everything from housewares to books to home decor to toys to groceries to seasonal stuff to toenail clippers. It's a lot of stuff to move.)

I've been shopping at that store for 4 and a half years. I knew where everything was. Everything. Brown sugar. Large bag of Craisins. Those Asian crackers that the girls like so much. Inexpensive picture frames. The discount bin. Life was tolerable.

But then they changed everything, and now a 25 minute shopping trip has turned into an hour. Each aisle I turn down brings me new grief and frustration. Each new aisle is full of customers looking just like me.....pushing their shopping carts with one wonky wheel, wandering aimlessly with a vacant, slightly dazed look in their eyes. I started snickering at one point because as I looked at the scene, I couldn't help but think we all looked like we were participating in some sick zombie movie.

But with less moaning and dragging of assorted body parts.

On the upside, the checkout lines are really short. All those wandering souls on a quest to find chickpeas and granola bars were, well, still on their quest. Godspeed, said I. Godspeed.

It's been two weeks since I've stepped foot in Stupidstore. My mom is cheering. My kids are complaining. But I just don't have the energy needed to shop on manual functioning. I like autopilot. I need to use the manual functioning for chasing The Baby, remembering what hair colour to buy and making pop explode in the checkout lane.

So, dear Stupidstore, the hundreds of hours you have paid out to rearrange your store has driven one of your customers over the edge, which I realize wasn't that hard to do considering I was hanging onto said edge with my unmanicured hands and some bungee cords wrapped around my ass, but still.

I don't know when I'll be back. I'm sure you've noticed a drop in milk and cream sales. And perhaps you've been scratching your head at the sudden decline in dill pickle chip purchases. But you brought it upon yourself.

And what can conclusions can we draw from this little tirade?

Change is bad.

And I think those bungee cords just snapped.

Road Trip

I'm blowing this popsicle stand.

Getting the heck out of Dodge.

Hitting the road.

The Eldest and I will soon be driving down the road, in a car without booster seats, car seats, men, young children and fishy crackers.

We are heading out for a four hour drive to spend the weekend with one of my oldest friends. We are going to shop til we drop, find the perfect accessories for the Eldest's grad dress and eat 8 pounds of chocolate apiece.

There will be copious amounts of chatting, conversing, reminiscing, and clucking. Lots of tea. Perhaps a dip or two in a hot tub. A chick flick. Something salty. Definitely some Fuzzy Peaches.

Sunday will come in a blink of an eye, but for now, I'm heading to pack my bag, make a list or two for the Husband and get this party started.

And hopefully come back with a blog post or two.

Griswolds on a road trip?

Most definitely.

Stupidstore is Still Stupid

It's been a while since I vented about Stupidstore.

I know. You're rolling your eyes at me. Right this very moment my mother is saying out loud, "WHY DO YOU SHOP THERE??"

Because I'm cheap. You all know that. Once every two weeks I go to buy stuff that's way cheaper there and once in a while they throw me a blog story. It's all good.

Today I was conned into buying a large box of waffles. They were on sale for $6.48. Exactly. I cannot remember to pay the hydro bill on time or what kind of coffee to buy, but I can remember how much groceries cost. It's a sickness, really. Some people cure diseases. I can tell you how much a can of Heinz beans cost in Qualicum Beach circa 1996. (68 cents. Would go on sale 2 for 99 cents every six weeks.)

I know.

I cry at my life too.

Today's escapade with the stinking waffles started with the Eldest looking at me all Bambi like and requesting waffles to celebrate Easter. I would like to point out that I usually make our waffles from scratch and they are quite lovely. But not quite as speedy as 20 seconds in the toaster and let's face it, when you have a waffle craving, there's nothing like opening up the freezer and finding love nestled amongst the ice cubes.

When the cashier scanned the box of waffles, they scanned in at $8.38.

I don't think so.

"Excuse me....what did those waffles just scan through at?"

The cashier scanned them again, and sure enough, they scanned in at $8.38.

"I'm pretty sure those are on sale for $6.48."

The cashier looked at me funny. (I get that a lot. It's ok.) Then she asked me if I'd like her to do a price check.

No, that's perfectly alright. I'm fine with being overcharged a buck ninety.

"Yes. Please," I said.

So the cashier did a price check. We all waited around. I could feel the eyes of the next person waiting in line boring into me. The clerk's phone finally rang and BOOYA! I was vindicated. $6.48 it was.

The cashier then manually changed the price of the waffles and before I could say anything, she got back on her phone and requested a supervisor for an override.

The supervisor, who, by the way was around my age....about 29.....eventually arrived, reached over the cashier, punched in some numbers so $6.48 appeared on the screen, wrote down the bar code (I'm assuming so she could go key in the correct code price) then started to walk away.

"Excuse me......EXCUSE ME.....but don't you have a policy about getting an item for free if it scans in at the wrong price?"

The supervisor didn't even make eye contact with me. Said nothing. She just turned around, punched in some more numbers then walked away. Not a word was ever spoken to me.

I got my waffles for free. But what kind of customer service is that? Here in Canada, there is something called the 'Code of Practice: Scanner Price Accuracy Voluntary Code'. And guess what? Stupidstore is a member.

Incorrect bar code pricing is inevitable. I know that. But at other stores, such as Save-On-Foods, the cashier automatically gives you the item for free, apologizes for the mistake and for causing you inconvenience. Which is how it should be handled. Those are the rules.

Stupidstore should be honouring the rules they agreed to when they signed that Code of Practice. They shouldn't be leaving it to their customers to remind them of their responsibilities.

And their supervisors should know how to make eye contact and speak. At the very least, not be rude.

I am the price check police. Hear me roar.

Merry Christmas Dear Husband of Mine

I've been getting a fair amount of flack from the Husband ever since the UP posting.

Apparently, I am far too one sided about what I choose to post on MY blog. I have no idea what he's talking about. It could be he's feeling rather sensitive about the fact that a lot of people keep asking him if he's taught the dog any new tricks, then say "UP!!" and start to giggle. Whatever.

Today, when mentioning a slight mishap that happened to me on a shopping trip, instead of getting a drop of sympathy, the Husband's only comment was, "OH....but you won't blog about that!"

So, without further adieu, Merry Christmas, dear.

I headed to Mark's Work Wearhouse today in a vain attempt to find an eluded Christmas gift.

'Insane' would be the only descriptive word that would describe the store....at 10:30 am on a Tuesday morning. I should have known it was a recipe for disaster when I had to wait for a parking spot. But, no, I figured heading into the store with a 2 and a half year old strapped in a stroller would be a good idea.

As soon as we entered the store, the Baby started insisting that she be able to get out and walk. I kept telling her no, we'd be quick, and she'd have to stay in the stroller.

Picture me walking through the store, trying to get the stroller past endless displays and boxes and shoes and boots and all other assorted stuff laying in every aisle, not to mention the PEOPLE, oh my gosh, the PEOPLE. The Baby started screaming once we're at the farthest point from the door, and I finally came to my senses and decided to leave.

This was NOT what the Baby wanted. She wanted to, "WALK!!! DOWN!! I WALK!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" As I tried to put her in her car seat, she adopted the human spine board pose and refused to bend so I could put on her straps. Feeling like everyone in a two mile radius was watching me and my pathetic parenting skills, I heard a window rolling down in the car parked next to me.

I turned around to see a lovely grandma type lady leaning out her window.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but there's a sticker on your backside."

And I reached back and pulled off a clothing sticker with the size 50 regular written on it 3x in big bold lettering.

I started to think about exactly how early on in the store that the size 50 sticker adhered to my butt. I think I might have said thanks to the lady but to be honest, she was kinda smirking at me and it's all a bit of a blur.

With that, I forced the Baby into a 90 degree angle, buckled her in, hucked the stroller into the van and drove away, dreaming of Baileys and sleeping children.

So there you go, dear Husband of mine.

Merry Christmas.

A Trip to Ikea, Mahoney Style

Kaitlyn is in the midst of decorating her room, which of course means a trip to Ikea.

We decided to meet Heath there after work, and have a family dinner out. Where else can you feed children for $1.99 and get free childminding? Those Swedes really know how to bring in customers.

Being a family of 6, it is a rarity to eat out. And eating in a restaurant with a very busy 2 year old is not on my "Top Ten List of Fun Things To Do". It is on my "Top Ten List of Things That Are More Fun To Do Than a Root Canal", but I digress.

So there we were, sitting with 4 kids in the middle of the Ikea 'restaurant'. And things were going fairly smoothly. Yes, my leg and foot were coated with a greasy film of Ikea "gravy" that some child who didn't belong to me happened to drop all down my leg and onto my foot as we waited in line....I digress again....but overall, none of my children had managed to spill anything or hit someone or complain about why we spend our summer vacations in Ikea while their cousins go to Disneyland.

As we were finishing up, an elderly lady came up to our table. She apologised for interrupting us. She then went on to say how she had been sitting at her table drinking her tea and was just so taken with how lovely our children and family were. She gushed about how nice it was to see a family enjoying each other's company and kept repeating what a loving family we had. I thanked her profusely, and Heath sat there beaming like only a proud daddy can.

Fast forward 30 minutes.

Eilidh had a meltdown in the checkout line-up such as I have never seen before. SHE didn't get anything at Ikea. It wasn't fair. She wanted something. KAITLYN was getting something (paid for with her own money), KEELEY was getting something (oooh....a 3 dollar potty chair), and then great stomping of the feet ensued. We carted her off to the van, screaming and stomping her feet, and with Keeley demanding to get out of the stroller.

Heath was trying to get Keeley in the van and I was trying to get Eilidh to stop screaming. Toys were falling out of the van. Patrick was arguing with Heath as to why he had to phone his friend RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT and not when we got home. Kaitlyn was trying to load her breakable purchases into the van without all the recycling that I forgot to take back rolling out onto the vast Ikea parking lot.....a fair bit of it being beer bottles. They breed. I swear.

And amidst all this chaos, I looked up, and there was that little old lady who couldn't stop gushing about my wonderful family, looking gobsmacked. Out of that entire vast parking lot of Ikea, she had to be parked IMMEDIATELY in front of our van and getting into her car at the exact moment we were.

She just stood there. Watching the insanity. She wasn't smiling. I avoided eye contact.

I had a cider when we got home and took comfort in the fact that for a brief moment in time, my family was loving. And lovely. I'll take what I can get.