Relationship on the Rocks

As my family readies to move itself to San Diego in six weeks, my one time amicable relationship with Ralph’s Grocery Store is on the rocks.

This morning, at 7:30 a.m., I took Jared with me for an early morning run to Ralphs. I’d set my mind on some day old donuts -- if there were any to be had. Jared and I were early enough this morning that we actually caught the baker setting out the day old items – among them a dozen chocolate donuts for only a dollar. It was a great find.

We also needed some bread, so I picked up two loaves from the same rack at 50 cents a loaf (It’ll actually be very difficult for me if I ever have to go back to paying full price for bread). Jared and I also found some Honey Bunches of Oats on sale (with Almonds) for $1.50 a box – just about the right price to make me feel like I’m getting a bargain.

We brought our treasures proudly to the check out stand, and the lone morning checker – an aging woman perhaps in her late 40s – scanned our purchases. Rarely had I ever found so many things at such a good price. I was feeling good.

The donuts rang up just fine. So did the cereal. The bread, however, rang up at its original price of $2.99 a loaf. At this point, I intervened. “We got the bread from the day old rack,” I said. “They’ve both got .50 price tags on them.”

The checker looked over the price tags, and her reaction surprised me.

“Who marked these?” she said, noting that the price tags were uncharacteristically written in pen – not pre-printed.

“I got them from the day old rack”, I stated for the second time.

She started to get testy. “This isn’t how we mark things.”

“Well that’s how it was marked,” I replied calmly. I was a little surprised, though, by the growing hostility I sensed in her voice.

She kept scanning the loaves of bread, almost as though she were looking for evidence of a crime. She then told me, half angrily and without looking me in the eye, “This brand doesn’t mark down its bread. I can’t give you this bread at this price.” [Contrary to what she says, this brand of bread is marked down all the time]. Without any word from me, she started rescanning the bread to take them off my receipt, all the while repeating in accusatory tones, “This isn’t how things are marked.”

So there it was. Maybe it was because I hadn’t showered yet this morning, and my hair was messed up just enough to make me look suspicious. Maybe I looked a little too eager to get those donuts home and start scarfing them with milk. Maybe Jared spent too much time looking at the lobsters in the seafood tank. Whatever her reason, this woman was sneering at me, and appeared to be accusing me [and Jared] of a crime!

No bread was worth this aggravation. Donuts, maybe, but not bread. So I muffled something akin to “Whatever” and was ready to pay and leave feeling ticked.

However, the manager happened to be at a desk 15 feet away and no doubt heard the checker accusing me of trying to mark down bread. The manager called the check over and asked her to bring the bread. I heard the manager tell her “That’s how it’s marked” followed by a muffled discussion wherein the checker expressed disbelief and aggravation all in the same tone.

As they talked, the woman behind me asked, “So she’s not letting you by the bread?”

“No,” I replied, “apparently not.”

“But that’s how it’s marked” the woman rejoined with her own sense of frustration and desperation. At this point, I noticed a few day old items among her groceries – including a loaf of bread.

The checker soon enough made her way back to the checkstand. Without looking at me she rescanned the loaves of bread at 50 cents but continued to grumble loud enough for everyone to hear “That’s not how they’re supposed to be marked.”

I waited for something akin to an apology, but nothing came – and when it didn’t my frustration grew. Instead, the woman continued grumbling about the apparent incompetence of the new baker, as though she were trying to reason her way out of an apology. We paid and made our way out the store, and I heard the woman behind me say to the checker sheepishly, “I guess I’ve got the same thing.”

The checker apparently couldn’t resist: “That’s not how the bread is supposed to be marked” she grumbled yet again.

Perhaps I should've gone back and bought more bread.