By Phil Riske, managing editor
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 has become a comfortable place because I know where everything is, the staff is great, and I have a favorite clerk in the 15-item checkout lane.
Early this week, I went shopping at my favorite grocery store, only to find corporate management has decided to totally redo all the aisles, and the store will be a mess for two weeks. FREAK ME OUT!
Where are the canned goods now, you morons? What the hell did you do with the crackers and cookies?
I was getting nauseous and faint. I’m not going to make it out of here alive.
What is 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.
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.
The next day I saw a news story the store might be sold.
I’m not sure I’m going to recover, folks.
