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As a rule, I don’t do well in grocery stores.

I backtrack. I meander, and I zig-zag all over the place because I never know quite where anything is.

Once I do find what I’m looking for, I usually become even more bewildered by the incredible variety of choices available: light pulp; no pulp; low pulp with added calcium; low pulp with added Vitamins A, C, E and calcium; low acid with no pulp; light and healthy with half the calories with no pulp; healthy heart with no pulp; immunity defense with no pulp; country style; heart wise; and home squeezed.

I stare helplessly at shelves for a time, then force myself to just grab one — only I always seem to grab the wrong one.

When I get home, my wife will inevitably say something along the lines of, “I can’t believe you bought Tremendously Pulpy with added Marshmallows. Don’t you know we only buy Completely Un-Pulpy with added Organic Turnip Calcium and Unrefined Bismuth?” or something similarly bizarre.

But since this Great Recession began, my wife, Michele, has quit shopping at the grocery store with 48 kinds of orange juice. She now favors one of those no-frills stores.

She invited me and our youngest, Anna, to come along last Saturday, and sadly, I didn’t do well there either.

As we approached the store my wife said, “Do you have a quarter?”

Digging around in my pockets, I said that I didn’t.

“Well, you need a quarter to unlock the shopping carts.”

“What?”

“It’s like those baggage carts at the airport,” she said. “The quarter releases it and when you bring it back, you get your quarter back.”
“So that keeps people from leaving their shopping carts willy-nilly all over the parking lot?”

“Exactly, she said. “Only we don’t have quarter, so we’ll just have to carry our stuff.”

The cart thing should have tipped me off that this wasn’t an ordinary grocery store, but I guess I just didn’t know what to expect.

The entire store is about an eighth the size of our previous store, and the interior is about as exciting as the Post Office.

Part of the blandness comes from the fact that the store sells its own brands exclusively with names that are a little too perky and chipper-sounding for my taste. Happy Farms, Sweet Valley, Rose Land and L’oven Fresh, just to name a few.

Like an 8-year-old Sherpa following my wife around the store, Anna’s arms were quickly filled with items. When she turned the corner clutching a jar of peanut butter in one hand, and pressing a box of cereal to her chest while balancing a large cucumber under her chin, I couldn’t help but grin.

Soon my arms became full, too.

“Go get in line and I’ll be right there,” my wife said.

Obediently, Anna and I lugged our loads toward the register.
“We need dog treats,” Anna said.

I nodded affirmatively, and with my foot, gently nudged a box off the shelf and onto the floor. Anna and I then began to kick the 26-ounce box of dog biscuits like a soccer ball across the floor toward the register.

Strangely, not one person in the no-frills store seemed to think this was the least bit unusual.

So despite the not having the quarter to rent a shopping cart, the sappy product names, and the lack of any selection whatsoever, I think I may start to like this store.

This may sound strange, but I really liked their orange juice section. They only stock two kinds: Orange Juice and Premium Orange Juice, and the word “pulp” wasn’t mentioned anywhere.

Mac Lane lives in High Point and, when he’s not pondering what a ridiculous name L’oven Fresh is, can be reached at maclane@northstate.net.