the grocery puzzle

There is an unpleasant chore which I bring myself to do every few weeks out of desperation or boredom. Some know it as grocery shopping. I like to think of it as a carefully balanced calculation of how many days' worth of food I can possibly pack into the fewest number of bags I can carry from my car to my second floor apartment--in one trip. This self-imposed limitation is the subliminal current letting me know just the right moment when my cart is stacked high enough to require a handful of bags, but the way it corners while rounding the last aisle is still smooth enough that a gallon of milk won't unbalance the load. I become more and more thankful that the produce section comes first in the store, so I get my fruits and veggies in the mix before calling it quits. I carefully watch the bag boy/girl/person as they package my purchases, hoping my aisle selection rewarded me with an experienced bundler. Or, as experienced as one can be at the age of 16, with the majority of their grocery history being the seemingly magical apparition of food behind the cupboard doors of their parents' home.

Upon parking at my apartment building, I survey the contents of my trunk for the best carrying strategy. Plastic bags are a must, as they can be layered around a firm grip, like an upside-down floral arrangement (or, so I would guess, since I've never been able to successfully put one together!). Plus, they're handy for tidying up after the special gifts of roommates of the feline persuasion. But I digress. Bags with canned goods are gathered first because they can withstand the most pressure from other items around them. Layered next are frozen foods, since they can't usually dent much. Produce or breads follow--and they must be stacked on the outside, so as to avoid unfortunate contact with a knee during transport. Eggs aren't allowed unless on a special (i.e., short) shopping excursion. And last but not least, the bag with the milk is reserved for the free hand because it's too heavy to join the others and can also stand on its own while alternately closing the trunk and managing the door key.

This juggling act has become my own little triumph for every time which I successfully complete it. Surely the satisfaction can't be simply the masterful subjugation of bending grocery staples to my iron will. Perhaps it's a need to feel competent and resourceful. Or the joy of a puzzle well solved. All I know is I have my apples and peanut butter, with no dents or dings to diminish them.