Member-only story
You’re a Real Bitch, Samantha
(And You’re a Terrible Mother, Too)
I was at the grocery store tonight.
Okay, wait. I was at the discount grocery store tonight. The one in the not-great neighborhood that is pretty close to my neighborhood, since I live in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood right next to the not-great neighborhood. Admittedly, I alternate between this store, known for its good prices on standard household staples and the bougie grocery in the neighborhood on the other side of my neighborhood, where I can get organic produce and a latte all in one stop.
This grocery store has no latte. I have to pay a quarter for the shopping cart. If I happen to buy produce, which is rare, it should be eaten very, very soon. Understand?
A few weeks ago, while in this same store, my heart heaved with sadness over the woman who, clearly disoriented and very, very high, opened a carton of yogurt, dipped her fingers in, and ate it while she staggered down the aisle. It was a matter of moments before the security guard gently waltzed her out of the store as she discarded her half-eaten carton on the floor, wiping her chin with a dirty sleeve. I hope she was treated well.
I get it. This store sees its share of patrons who are down on their luck. There are a lot of SNAP benefit cards used here. I’m no snob; I partly go there…
