From the Very Messy, Can-Barely-Find-Sh*t, Yet Amazingly Functional Desk of
Liesl M. Testwuide
Mr. John Verscootenhagen, Manager, E-Z Shop Grocery
2759 Cornucopia Lane
Peshtigo, WI 59032
What the hell happened? I go on vacation for a week and you rearrange the entire store? Is this some kind of sick joke? What were you thinking? A big holiday is right around the corner, just for fun, let's mess with our loyal customers' heads and move 39,000 items to completely new locations?
I adjust to change pretty well. I mean, I seem to handle the expected: a divorce, a move, a new American Idol judge, or a random grey pubic hair, but discovering my grocery store has been entirely rearranged, is akin to learning my hairdresser of 20 years is retiring.
After moving to your neighborhood, it took me a decade to learn each item's location in your store. I finally found the toothpicks and the ever elusive Sterno cans. Finding those two items alone sucked up hours of my numbered days.
John, I gave you ten good years of my life!
Today I'm ten years older. I'm no longer picky about the firmness of my cantaloupes. My sausage intake has seriously diminished. And I keep few, if any, unexpired eggs in my house. I'm too old to spend the necessary time to get reaquainted. I'm set in my ways and ill-prepared to start from scratch at this point in my life. I just don't love you enough to find your black olives again.
Sure, your new shiny carts and interesting signage is enticing, but we both know it's what's on the inside that counts. A decade ago these wiles may have lured me back, but no more. As a grown woman, I'm more in tune with my needs. I need service and satisfaction.
Your thoughtless actions have not only affected me. The grocery shopping community is in chaos. Mrs. Schniedermeier,
blinded by tears, rode her electric scooter right over my foot in quest of her beloved spiced peaches. Out of pain I fell back and knocked over your pyramid of olive oil bottles. But I think that fault falls upon you, John, for building an asinine glass tower of oil.
Unable to find the tiny taco seasoning packets, Mr. Seymour banged his head repeatedly against the taco shell shelf (you may want to check those). While cleaning up after 89 year-old Mrs. Leekenblatter, who had to wander too long looking for the incontinence section, a stock boy explained that taco seasoning packets are now located near the gravy mixes. However, so distracted by pushing a mop through Mrs. Leekenblatter's puddle of piss, the stock boy couldn't recall which aisle now housed the gravy mixes. Out of anger, Mr. Seymour dramatically stormed off. However, focused on the signage hanging from the ceiling, he slipped and landed in the piss puddle. The stock boy mumbled, "Dude, fer sure it's Mello Yello."
I eventually found my boys enjoying your new Cheetos display. Always thinking of others, they were teaching all the kids to do Cheeto bombs. It's simple, really. You toss a family-size bag of Cheetos to the floor, drop forcefully to your butt on top the bag, and enjoy the loud POP as the bag explodes. So sorry I didn't notice their activity sooner. Just follow the orange streaks, and you'll find the war zone in no time.
The good news is that my youngest child did make up for his brothers' rambunctious behavior by re-alphabetizing the spices. Although he struggles severely with Dyslexia, I thought it was neat he gave it a shot.
I came in today for only one item in order to make my meatloaf supper. As I shouted, "Where the f*ck are the bread crumbs?" I wondered if you were back in your office, eating popcorn watching security tapes as each customer slowly lost his sh*t out of frustration. All I needed were the bread crumbs. They weren't with the bread. They weren't with the flour. They weren't with the spices. You could have left a simple trail, dammit, kind of like the Cheeto dust trail that followed us out your door and down the block to Supa Delish For Lesh.
(photo credits: 1. dailypicksandflicks.com; 2. smosh.com; 3. idontseedeadpeople.blogspot.com 4. collegehumor.com; 5. smosh.com; 6. Fiterature.com)