There are no Aldi’s in Colorado, where I live. That doesn’t stop FB friends from extolling the virtues of this quirky little grocery store. Some claim an association with Trader Joe’s. I am not so sure. My handheld encyclopedia has some dubious information. What else is new?
I’d mentioned to a random person (I am famously,
unabashedly friendly to strangers) that my next stop for the day was Aldi’s. Without missing a beat or even taking a
breath, she said “Do you have a quarter?”, in the same easy way people ask if I
remembered to bring sunscreen to the beach or feed the baby. Which nowadays is quite the challenge for new
parents, but I’m getting off topic here.
I thought – I’ll play along - and began to look in the change purse
pocket of my wallet. I might have had a
quarter or two, but I said no just to see what happens next. She reached in the till and handed me two
bits. With a serious look and a teaching
tone of voice she told me I’ll need this circular George Washington to get a
shopping cart. As an afterthought she
told me I would get my money back. Her
money really, but who’s keeping score.
The trek to Aldi’s was a short drive in Ruby. Ruby is an ‘extra’ car that Harry and Dori* have inherited and are allowing me to use down the shore for short excursions. My ride to Aldi’s was filled with wonder; is there a cart attendant? How does it work? What if I lose my quarter? No worries there because I had more than one. Wink-wink. I parked and saw the buggies lined up like soldiers next to the building. There were no cart corrals in the parking lot. I walked slowly up to the store, not only because I am an awkward ambler, but because I wanted to spy a fellow shopper doing the shopping cart cha-cha. It would save me from staring at the wagons in bewilderment. I figured out that there is a little slot that holds the quarter tightly in place while freeing the wagon from the one directly behind it. I remembered my bags (NJ is bagless), had commandeered a cart, donned my mask and just like that I was in like Flynnn.
First up? Produce. Nice selection and decent prices. I only bought red grapes at $1.29 per pound, and some button mushrooms because I still had what I thought was enough produce back at the rented condo. Folks had told me there were plenty of off brands at Aldi’s, but I think they are private labeled goods. It was kind of like Esh’s** but with valid expiries. That might be an inside joke betwixt me and my kids. Many of these offerings looked good and I managed to part from a Grant. That’s $50 for all you cashless, card tapping shoppers. There were yummy looking prepackaged salads, but only a few that were veggie friendly. I put tea bags, snack mix and bagel skinnies (for my sister) in the cart, along with some other goodies.
Time to pay the piper. There were two check out lanes open; one had a single shopper unloading her cart, and another had a line that snaked back into the aisle. I thought it odd and got in the line behind the single shopper. It was then I spied toilet paper in her cart and thought - I need that, I always need that. No shit. I asked her where she had found the six-pack of fluffy (I hope) rolls, and she told me to head down the aisle where the line of Aldi aficionados stood. I did, and it was like a daylight supermarket walk of shame! No one, not one person directly said a word to me, but the hens were clucking, and the roosters were ranting. Doesn’t she know it is one line that goes to two registers? No cutting ahead. These people were not so passively aggressive. I could have pretended I was only inquiring about a bathroom essential. I could have groveled and pled ignorance. But I just did what I usually do; I ignored the lot of them, kept my head up high and got my non-alcoholic six-pack, just a few short steps away from the mavens of Aldi’s market. Then I dutifully went to the back of the line. Life has taught me that there are crazy people in supermarkets, and I didn’t need anyone gunning for me.
As I stood there, the caboose of the queue, I earwitnessed
the vocal admonishment aimed at an older woman (Who am I kidding – she was
probably my age), who also didn’t know the unwritten, no signage, no stanchions
rules of this little hole in the Wall, NJ market. Hey!
There is one line feeding two lanes they yelled. Hey!
Didn’t you see us all waiting over here?
I was tempted to answer their heckles because I had seen them all
in a row, and had almost chosen the shorter line just a few moments ago,
because I thought they all were – dare I say it? Stupid!
The line moved up, folks still mumbling and grumbling,
me the tranquil tail. Now I noticed busy
shoppers at a long shelf that ran the length of the window at the front of the
store. It looked as if everyone was rearranging
their grocery bags, and I figured that Aldi cashiers were egg crushing
scoundrels. I knew enough to pop my bags
open in the cart as I approached the register.
This would certainly make the bagging part of my check out experience proceed
quickly. But I quickly learned items are
scanned and placed back in the cart, unbagged.
What? That’s what all those people
were doing? Sheesh. Pay for a cart, mangle the mojo of waiting,
sack my own cereal! This store is a lot
of work. I organize my essentials into a
few bags, paying special attention to the dozen eggs I was sure were going to
be scrambled by the clerk.
Whew! Am I
ready to negotiate the coin for a cart conundrum? I try to put my cart back as soon as I exit,
then realize I will need to put my purchases in the car before figuring out
the routine in reverse, Over the puddles
and through the pavement, and I am back at the front of the store wanting my
gifted quarter back. Again, I covertly
spied an Aldi’er to see what to do, but I was pretty sure I knew how to
navigate these waters. I nestled the
cart into one already in place and was about to put the quarter pusher into the
slot when a woman asked me if she could give me twenty-five cents worth of coins
for my cart because she didn’t have a quarter.
Now I could have ignored her (my go-to, remember?), because I really
wanted to finish my job. I could have
just given her the damn cart and fled the scene sooner. But I said sure, albeit a bit reluctantly,
and waited and watched as she rooted around in her purse for the correct
exchange of change. I could have told
her forget it and just called it a day.
In the end I agreed to accept twenty cents for my cart. After all, somebody had to pay for this
adventure, and it wasn’t going to be me!
*Harry and Dori are my brother and sister-in-law
**Esh's is a funky little market with locations in NoCo
Time to Write,
Jane
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