By Phil Riske | Senior Reporter/Writer
I am one of those routine-oriented people (much to the dismay of my bride, who is spontaneous and adventuresome). So, when something turns my obsession for order on its head, well, I become an unhappy camper (although I don’t camp).
Part of my routine in semi-retired life is to do the grocery shopping. My grocery store over the years became a comfortable place because I knew where everything was, the staff was great, and I had a favorite clerk in the 15-item checkout lane.
Recently, I went shopping at my favorite grocery store, only to find corporate management has decided to totally redo all the aisles. The store was a mess for two weeks. FREAKED ME OUT!
Where are the canned goods now, you morons? What the hell did you do with the crackers and cookies?
What was usually a 15-20-minute shopping time nearly doubled because I had to ask the hired help where stuff was — and they didn’t know half the time.
And to top it all off, my favorite checkout lady wasn’t there so I could cry on her shoulder.
I got nauseous and faint. I didn’t think I was going to make it to the parking lot alive.
As is always the case, the bagboy says, “Would you like some help out?” I was tempted to get into the cart and have him wheel me to my car.
A little later, I saw a news story the store was sold to an even larger corporation.
I’m not sure I’m going to recover, folks.
