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Beauty and the Instacart
By Stephanie Kemp
Beauty and the Instacart
By Stephanie Kemp
Yesterday I went to Vons in Big Bear to get a roast chicken.
I came out of Vons with $190 worth of groceries, but only had to pay $165 because of a club member discount, courtesy of my husband’s cell phone number.
Don’t tell my husband about this.
I love my Vons in Big Bear. If I am there it usually means I am in the mountains alone (like I am right now), or I am here with all or some of my family, who (sometimes) love being here, especially if they haven’t been here in a very, very long time. That said, my husband currently likes being at home and playing guitar. (He is really good and getting better all the time as he continues to make lemonade out of the writers’ strike and also being a white man in Hollywood.) Our daughters currently like to be at home with their friends. (One is down there with a friend right now, the other is in London without us.) Our daughters are somehow, suddenly, 15 and 18.
The problem yesterday at Vons was my loss of focus:
Are you really here for a chicken?
What are you going to do with it?
Shouldn’t you (at 55) learn how to roast your own chicken?
Don’t you really want to make tetrazzini with that chicken?
…For your family, in case they come up this weekend?
…For your friends, in case you finally invite them up here with you even though you love to be alone and they are getting sick of your empty promises?
…For your husband, even though he doesn’t like to eat the tetrazzini even though he loves it?
And remember - tetrazzini will also require butter, thin spaghetti, heavy cream, Wondra flour, parmesan cheese, chicken broth, white vermouth - and maybe some mushrooms now that your former children are 15 and 18 and not so vegetable adverse!
(You did teach your kids to like vegetables didn’t you?)
But you should just make the tetrazzini no matter what because you can freeze it!
For your friends!
For your neighbors, in case your neighbors drop by!
For your family, up to and including your grandkids, as long as you freeze it properly and don’t add the cheese until you are ready to cook it!
And what about a wine stock up?
Cleaning supplies you are low on?
What about ice cream sandwiches and frozen coconut bars for summer since there is no June Gloom here?
What if your husband and non-London daughter come up tomorrow?
What if your London daughter brings friends up here after London and before she goes to college?
And don’t forget you need (even) more butter!
Plus Cream of Wheat since you and one daughter are both low on iron!
Spinach! Kale! Black beans!
More canned beans of all types! (What if there is another blizzard someday?)
Fruit (everyone should eat more fruit!)
A potato (the one you had the other night was perfect! Also get a tiny steak!)
Granola (That bag in the cupboard was supposed to be “best used by April 2020”.)
Suddenly, I am realizing as I type, that the Vons in Big Bear is (also) very stressful.
I don’t know who I am shopping for.
Just me?
Me and my husband, who does most of the cooking even though I used to love to cook? (We are coming here alone for the first time next weekend.)
Me and my husband and the non-London daughter? (If they do come up tomorrow it will be against at least one of their wills and I don’t blame her.)
The daughter who might come with friends post-London pre-college? (I hope they are good drivers and will be safe driving up here on that tiny, narrow, edge of the mountain, distractingly gorgeous winding road.)
My friends who I miss but can’t seem to bring myself to invite to the mountains?
Should I also buy beer? (Yes - but maybe get the tiny Coronitas, in case the teenagers drink them!)
Green tea? (Yes - in case I drink the Coronitas and/or the red wine!)
Cookie dough! (Yes - no matter what!)
Jesus.
Vons is fucking exhausting.
And I haven’t even gotten to the real part of the story yet…….(are you scared?)
I love to people watch at this (or any) grocery store.
Yesterday, while I was over-shopping and possibly taking one step closer to becoming a hoarder, I found myself eavesdropping on two women who had happily run into each other in the Frozen Novelty Foods aisle after not seeing each other for way too long! It was an extra important run in because one of them was moving away after having “been here since 1974” and the other had “finally filed for divorce.”
I pretended to be choosing just the right Texas Toast but was really wondering where the one lady was moving to and if the other lady was ok. (I was also wondering why both of these massive life events were happening to - or for - these women at this exact moment in time.)
Next, in the pasta aisle (I had decided I should get noodles, just in case the tetrazzini was a go), I saw the world’s cutest baby (including my own - that’s how cute this kid was) in footie pajamas sitting on his mom’s hip.
He was that perfect age of:
“I only want to sit here forever!”
“My neck and bones are strong so I promise I won’t tip over backwards, even as you are reaching for that last box of Mac and Cheese on the highest shelf!”
“I love looking around with my big eyes and seeing everything for the - almost - first time while curling my tiny hand around your neck and playing with your hair!”
“This is the best peach you have ever stolen for me from the produce section to keep this trip to the store fun for everyone!”
“I love you, Mama. You are perfect.”
Last but not least (finally, because I had to get the fuck out of the store before I needed a second cart), I saw the Beauty from the title of this story. She stopped me in my tracks because she reminded me of someone I missed but couldn’t place. (She also stopped me because she was right in front of me in the check out line.)
…Late 20s.
…Long, dirty blond, I don’t give a shit mountain (with dash of beach) hair, parted in the middle and perfectly framing her face, just like Julia Roberts in Wonder, only dirtier.
…No make up but lit from within, as if she had her own tiny little sun hiding inside of her, hanging out with her vital organs.
…Old faded Levis with a hole on the left knee (the real kind - earned by a hard fall or over-wearing, not the factory made bullshit kind manufactured by the new cheating light wash and weight Levis).
…A boxy beige sweater over a seen a better day white tank top.
…Tan feet, no polish.
…Light brown berks.
…Fit but not skinny.
…No jewelry.
Clearly on a mission (with crusty bread, an apple, hard cheese and a small bottle of something pink - not even a basket needed!), she asked if I would hold her place in line because she forgot something. I said yes and then watched her effortlessly squeeze between my overflowing cart and the National Enquirers on her tippy toes before dashing off toward the deli counter.
It would have been so easy to hate her. But she was so....happy. And nice. And comfortable in her own skin. (Plus that baby with the peach juice face was staring at me and I didn’t want to disappoint him or set a bad example.)
She arrived back just in time for the cashier to ring her up, now armed with a few stolen napkins for her picnic at the lake!
I have never seen a cashier scan so slowly or (this cashier) be so chatty.
When it was finally my turn to put all my shit on the conveyor belt and pay up, I was making forced small talk with the cashier while still trying to place that girl.
He wanted to know if I needed more bags (remember, I had come only for a chicken). When I said no (we could just bag the little stuff and I’d load the rest), he said without ever looking up at my face, “Tell you what, I’ll treat you to a couple a bags. Looks like you got a lot going on today.”
What?
Did he not think I could afford to purchase 3 (ok, maybe 6) 10 cent grocery bags?
Could he not see that I was clearly just being responsible and thinking about the planet?
And that I was just trying to take care of my family even though I have no idea what that means right now?
Was he seeing any part of the human being that is the Actual Me, outside of what was sitting between us on the fucking conveyer belt?
Defensively and infuriatingly, I heard my mouth start to explain the whole thing about shopping for my kids, my friends, my husband, my………….blah blah blah.
He cut me off with, “I get it. You’re like their Instacart.”
What?!
And while I have never used Instacart, I looked down at all the things I had randomly pulled off the shelves “just in case” and realized he was right. I have become a human Instacart. I am trying to do too many things for too many people for too much of my time using too much of my energy, while not even sure who they are or what they might want or need.
Including me.
Because I am not seeing me, either.
This is why I couldn’t place that girl and wanted to hate her.
I used to be her. Even if:
...my jeans were never that perfect (although they were, because they were original 501s).
...I never liked beige (although maybe I should try it).
...my hair never quite reached that level of greatness (it did not).
...But I was once that comfortable in my own skin and sure of my mission.
I miss being young/er. (Who doesn’t?)
I miss my babies on my hip. (I knew they would be safe there.)
I miss my husband. (Why have we never been on the mountain alone?)
I miss my friends. (But it doesn’t take much to catch up. Plus it’s not like they are not insanely busy living their own insanely busy lives. Who do I think I am, anyway?)
This is why I love the grocery store.
It reminds me:
…that we all need to look around and eat stolen fruit.
…that big things happen when you’re brave enough to venture into novelty of any kind.
…that we all need to chronically redefine our mission/s and cart selection(s).
It is also reminds me that I must forever refuse to be anyone’s Instacart.
Including (and especially) my own.
(And, just like that, now I am actually happy I bought so much shit, because all of this clarity and newfound enlightenment will definitely make me want to invite everyone up here soon and often. I hope they can come.)
Maybe...
______________________________
I came out of Vons with $190 worth of groceries, but only had to pay $165 because of a club member discount, courtesy of my husband’s cell phone number.
Don’t tell my husband about this.
I love my Vons in Big Bear. If I am there it usually means I am in the mountains alone (like I am right now), or I am here with all or some of my family, who (sometimes) love being here, especially if they haven’t been here in a very, very long time. That said, my husband currently likes being at home and playing guitar. (He is really good and getting better all the time as he continues to make lemonade out of the writers’ strike and also being a white man in Hollywood.) Our daughters currently like to be at home with their friends. (One is down there with a friend right now, the other is in London without us.) Our daughters are somehow, suddenly, 15 and 18.
The problem yesterday at Vons was my loss of focus:
Are you really here for a chicken?
What are you going to do with it?
Shouldn’t you (at 55) learn how to roast your own chicken?
Don’t you really want to make tetrazzini with that chicken?
…For your family, in case they come up this weekend?
…For your friends, in case you finally invite them up here with you even though you love to be alone and they are getting sick of your empty promises?
…For your husband, even though he doesn’t like to eat the tetrazzini even though he loves it?
And remember - tetrazzini will also require butter, thin spaghetti, heavy cream, Wondra flour, parmesan cheese, chicken broth, white vermouth - and maybe some mushrooms now that your former children are 15 and 18 and not so vegetable adverse!
(You did teach your kids to like vegetables didn’t you?)
But you should just make the tetrazzini no matter what because you can freeze it!
For your friends!
For your neighbors, in case your neighbors drop by!
For your family, up to and including your grandkids, as long as you freeze it properly and don’t add the cheese until you are ready to cook it!
And what about a wine stock up?
Cleaning supplies you are low on?
What about ice cream sandwiches and frozen coconut bars for summer since there is no June Gloom here?
What if your husband and non-London daughter come up tomorrow?
What if your London daughter brings friends up here after London and before she goes to college?
And don’t forget you need (even) more butter!
Plus Cream of Wheat since you and one daughter are both low on iron!
Spinach! Kale! Black beans!
More canned beans of all types! (What if there is another blizzard someday?)
Fruit (everyone should eat more fruit!)
A potato (the one you had the other night was perfect! Also get a tiny steak!)
Granola (That bag in the cupboard was supposed to be “best used by April 2020”.)
Suddenly, I am realizing as I type, that the Vons in Big Bear is (also) very stressful.
I don’t know who I am shopping for.
Just me?
Me and my husband, who does most of the cooking even though I used to love to cook? (We are coming here alone for the first time next weekend.)
Me and my husband and the non-London daughter? (If they do come up tomorrow it will be against at least one of their wills and I don’t blame her.)
The daughter who might come with friends post-London pre-college? (I hope they are good drivers and will be safe driving up here on that tiny, narrow, edge of the mountain, distractingly gorgeous winding road.)
My friends who I miss but can’t seem to bring myself to invite to the mountains?
Should I also buy beer? (Yes - but maybe get the tiny Coronitas, in case the teenagers drink them!)
Green tea? (Yes - in case I drink the Coronitas and/or the red wine!)
Cookie dough! (Yes - no matter what!)
Jesus.
Vons is fucking exhausting.
And I haven’t even gotten to the real part of the story yet…….(are you scared?)
I love to people watch at this (or any) grocery store.
Yesterday, while I was over-shopping and possibly taking one step closer to becoming a hoarder, I found myself eavesdropping on two women who had happily run into each other in the Frozen Novelty Foods aisle after not seeing each other for way too long! It was an extra important run in because one of them was moving away after having “been here since 1974” and the other had “finally filed for divorce.”
I pretended to be choosing just the right Texas Toast but was really wondering where the one lady was moving to and if the other lady was ok. (I was also wondering why both of these massive life events were happening to - or for - these women at this exact moment in time.)
Next, in the pasta aisle (I had decided I should get noodles, just in case the tetrazzini was a go), I saw the world’s cutest baby (including my own - that’s how cute this kid was) in footie pajamas sitting on his mom’s hip.
He was that perfect age of:
“I only want to sit here forever!”
“My neck and bones are strong so I promise I won’t tip over backwards, even as you are reaching for that last box of Mac and Cheese on the highest shelf!”
“I love looking around with my big eyes and seeing everything for the - almost - first time while curling my tiny hand around your neck and playing with your hair!”
“This is the best peach you have ever stolen for me from the produce section to keep this trip to the store fun for everyone!”
“I love you, Mama. You are perfect.”
Last but not least (finally, because I had to get the fuck out of the store before I needed a second cart), I saw the Beauty from the title of this story. She stopped me in my tracks because she reminded me of someone I missed but couldn’t place. (She also stopped me because she was right in front of me in the check out line.)
…Late 20s.
…Long, dirty blond, I don’t give a shit mountain (with dash of beach) hair, parted in the middle and perfectly framing her face, just like Julia Roberts in Wonder, only dirtier.
…No make up but lit from within, as if she had her own tiny little sun hiding inside of her, hanging out with her vital organs.
…Old faded Levis with a hole on the left knee (the real kind - earned by a hard fall or over-wearing, not the factory made bullshit kind manufactured by the new cheating light wash and weight Levis).
…A boxy beige sweater over a seen a better day white tank top.
…Tan feet, no polish.
…Light brown berks.
…Fit but not skinny.
…No jewelry.
Clearly on a mission (with crusty bread, an apple, hard cheese and a small bottle of something pink - not even a basket needed!), she asked if I would hold her place in line because she forgot something. I said yes and then watched her effortlessly squeeze between my overflowing cart and the National Enquirers on her tippy toes before dashing off toward the deli counter.
It would have been so easy to hate her. But she was so....happy. And nice. And comfortable in her own skin. (Plus that baby with the peach juice face was staring at me and I didn’t want to disappoint him or set a bad example.)
She arrived back just in time for the cashier to ring her up, now armed with a few stolen napkins for her picnic at the lake!
I have never seen a cashier scan so slowly or (this cashier) be so chatty.
When it was finally my turn to put all my shit on the conveyor belt and pay up, I was making forced small talk with the cashier while still trying to place that girl.
He wanted to know if I needed more bags (remember, I had come only for a chicken). When I said no (we could just bag the little stuff and I’d load the rest), he said without ever looking up at my face, “Tell you what, I’ll treat you to a couple a bags. Looks like you got a lot going on today.”
What?
Did he not think I could afford to purchase 3 (ok, maybe 6) 10 cent grocery bags?
Could he not see that I was clearly just being responsible and thinking about the planet?
And that I was just trying to take care of my family even though I have no idea what that means right now?
Was he seeing any part of the human being that is the Actual Me, outside of what was sitting between us on the fucking conveyer belt?
Defensively and infuriatingly, I heard my mouth start to explain the whole thing about shopping for my kids, my friends, my husband, my………….blah blah blah.
He cut me off with, “I get it. You’re like their Instacart.”
What?!
And while I have never used Instacart, I looked down at all the things I had randomly pulled off the shelves “just in case” and realized he was right. I have become a human Instacart. I am trying to do too many things for too many people for too much of my time using too much of my energy, while not even sure who they are or what they might want or need.
Including me.
Because I am not seeing me, either.
This is why I couldn’t place that girl and wanted to hate her.
I used to be her. Even if:
...my jeans were never that perfect (although they were, because they were original 501s).
...I never liked beige (although maybe I should try it).
...my hair never quite reached that level of greatness (it did not).
...But I was once that comfortable in my own skin and sure of my mission.
I miss being young/er. (Who doesn’t?)
I miss my babies on my hip. (I knew they would be safe there.)
I miss my husband. (Why have we never been on the mountain alone?)
I miss my friends. (But it doesn’t take much to catch up. Plus it’s not like they are not insanely busy living their own insanely busy lives. Who do I think I am, anyway?)
This is why I love the grocery store.
It reminds me:
…that we all need to look around and eat stolen fruit.
…that big things happen when you’re brave enough to venture into novelty of any kind.
…that we all need to chronically redefine our mission/s and cart selection(s).
It is also reminds me that I must forever refuse to be anyone’s Instacart.
Including (and especially) my own.
(And, just like that, now I am actually happy I bought so much shit, because all of this clarity and newfound enlightenment will definitely make me want to invite everyone up here soon and often. I hope they can come.)
Maybe...
______________________________
