Yesterday we went to the co-op.
Around here, Saturday is the usual day for co-op shopping.
Because Saturday is TASKING DAY.
In the morning, I whip out my post-it note list. I am a person with lists. Your mileage may vary.
So we sit down on the green couch and go over the list for the day: Return phone calls, go for a run, teach, do laundry, mow the lawn and go to the co-op.
The co-op has become our new found reality show Saturday entertainment.
I am telling you, this is what happens when you get older and are married. These are the games you make up for a HOT DATE Saturday night. We also have the ROLLING ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR GAME, which I will save for another blog, maybe with video!
Anyway, it is getting towards the end of the day. We have gotten almost everything done.
Philly still has to cut the lawn and we still need to go to the co-op. He heads outside for the lawnmower.
“Hey!” I say. “If you start to cut the lawn now we won’t make it to the co-op before it closes at eight o’clock!”
Ok. Wait. Does anyone really WRITE eight o’clock out anymore? And didn’t that used to be a kind of coffee? I mean people SAY eight o’clock. But they WRITE 8PM. Right? Right?
Back to THE LAWN. Philly says, “I can do it!”
It is now 7PM. (See above for the written use of PM)
“All right, but it is going to be tight.” I say.
We look at each other and smile. We smile because we know we are now going to get to play RACE TO EIGHT O’ CLOCK!
Philly turns and runs to the shed to get the lawnmower. I rush upstairs to finish folding the laundry. Very soon it is 7:30PM!
I bolt down the stairs. I run to the front door, which is a very nice new front door with a roll down screen, BTW.
I open the door. I yell to Philly, “We have to go!”
“I am done!” he yells back.
We leave all the lawn items where they are and hop in the KIA.
“Let the games begin!” I say.
And off we go.
Eight minutes and we are at the co-op. Since they are practically closing, there is a lot of parking. We screech right up to the curb and hop out of the KIA.
Now because of COVID the co-op only allows eight people at a time inside. Which means if it is a crowded day they will only allow one person per family.
There are little markers on the sidewalk so we can all stand six feet apart. I stand right behind Philly. Nice Lady opens the door and lets Philly come in. Since there is almost no one in the store, Nice Lady lets me in as well.
We grab a big basket. Philly puts it on the counter. “I’ll go this way.” And he points toward the vegetables.
“Ok.” I say. “I will go that way.” And I point to the bread and cookie area.
The race is on. It is now 7:40PM.
I pick out some nice bread and a few chocolate chip cookies. I look for bagels but since it is the end of the day there are no bagels to be had.
I move on.
I drop the items into the big basket. I see Philly. “Did you get broccoli?” I ask.
“No” he says. “No broccoli.”
“We need broccoli.” I say.
I go over to the broccoli area which is right next to the brussel sprouts. Yes. I know some people say brussels sprouts. And some people capitalize. And yes, I know Brussels is a PLACE. I TRIED to find one right way. I gave up and this is what we are doing here: brussel sprouts.
When son was a young son he would call them little cabbage balls. “I do not like little cabbage balls.” he would say. Of course NOW he loves them.
I go to get the NEW biodegradable vegetable bags. Ok. Good idea on the biodegradable. However, IMPOSSIBLE to open. ESPECIALLY in the middle of a pandemic where you cannot lick your fingers for bag opening assistance.
I fight with the bag. Since I cannot lick my fingers to open the bag at this time in history, it takes me a whole minute JUST to get the bag OPEN. I put the broccoli in. Next I go over to the brussel sprouts, which are loose in a big bin with a scooper. Bag or no bag, this scooper situation has never really worked for me. The brussel sprouts just roll away. Unless you push them into the scooper with your HAND, which for obvious reason is not allowed. Not just now, but never ever.
I learned this lesson at the Brooklyn co-op years ago when I tried to give my vegetables a little hand assist. I did not know I had one of the militant co-op people standing right behind me.
“No touching the vegetables without a glove!” she yells from behind me.
“But I am only touching the vegetables I intend to buy.” I say.
“It doesn’t matter.” Co-op Police Lady says.
“Yes it does.” I say. “If I only touch the vegetables I am buying then it doesn’t matter if I am touching the vegetables because they are MINE.”
She gives me the Co-op Police Lady stink eye and walks away.
Also-just in case you should ever go into the Brooklyn Co-op, DO NOT nibble on anything you are buying in bulk. Because that is STEALING.
Anyway, I get the little cabbage balls into the bag. I dash over to put the bag into basket along with the broccoli.
On the way I pass Philly. “I am going to get the milks.” I say.
“All right!” he says. “I will run upstairs to get the coffee!”
“Meet you there!” I say.
Meanwhile I walk over to the corn area. This is a good time for corn. I get three ears.
I put them in the basket and head upstairs to the coffee area.
Philly is standing in front of the coffee bean dispensers. Usually we get one Midnight Sun and one French Roast. We like our coffee beans dark and greasy.
I walk down the aisle a little and I see a display of huge dog food size bags of coffee beans!
I yell over to Philly, “Oh my GOD! Look at this!”
Philly looks over. “This is coffee!” I say. Then I say, “We should definitely get a bag! AND they are 20% off!”
“Ok!” Philly says. “Go ahead and grab one!”
I guess we are committing to this coffee drinking lifestyle for a while.
Announcement Lady comes over the speaker: Attention: The co-op will be closing in five minutes.
I look at Philly. “We still have to get the fruit!” I say.
Here we go down the stairs with the dog food coffee bag. We cut the corner around the cashier grab the fruit and our basket to push it down the line.
Luckily, Cashier Number One, who is the cashier we always get, is right there waiting for us. As she begins ringing up our bounty, Philly searches the box pile for suitable boxes to pack the groceries. This is not so easy to do since the boxes are all thrown randomly on top of the refrigerator cabinets. You have to use one of those claw type things to reach a box.
He gets the boxes. “Nice work!” I say. We load the boxes together. I know Philly loves to do the spatial relations thing with the food items. And he thinks he is better than me at it. But he is not. He forgets I have years of experience single mothering the box packing to a manageable carry.
Eh. I just let him have this little box fantasy.
And…the boxes are packed! We slide the debit card to pay for way more food than we thought we were going to buy.
Isn’t that always the way?
We are all on our way out as they announce last call for checkout.
“Phew.” I say.
“Yeah.” Philly says.
We are getting good at this.
Yes we are.