Chain Chat: Ralph's Lives Up to Its Name

In which I blow off bullet points for an astounding real-life encounter with supermarket kind.

I tend to avoid Ralph's supermarket. We have a lovely small grocery store nearby (a smaller chain called Fresh & Easy) that rocks my little world. And we have Trader Joe's, too! But every once in a while I end up at Ralph's, either to get a missing ingredient or because I happen to be in the neighborhood. Well, after today, I won't be going back for a looooooooong time. (I want to say never, but never say never, right?)

I should have seen the weirdness coming when my progress was blocked multiple times by carts parked smack in the middle of the aisles. Usually, this doesn't happen in every aisle, but today was special. The old lady muttering mild expletives under her breath in the bread aisle was another omen I ignored after giving her a suitably wide berth.

When the time came to check out, there were only two lanes open, and as the salty-tongued lady was at the end of one, I chose the other. The fresh-faced young 'un manning the register waited too long to inform me she was closing the lane after the next customer, so I strolled back over to the ever-lengthening lane behind Old Mrs. Potty Mouth. I was about to unload my groceries, when the manager came over.

Now, the manager was at one time one of my favorite checkers at this establishment. She was always quick and polite and funny. But as manager, she's an imposing woman. Loud, large, and no-nonsense authoritative. Before I could place my chickens and eggs on the conveyor belt, she personally escorted me to a lane that she said was just opening up. Of course, it was just the same lane I'd been to earlier--the little chickadee must have been told that going on break in the middle of a cash-register rush is not store policy.

Anyway, there was already a guy in line--a fortyish athletic-looking fellow who'd spent the better part of his time in the grocery aisles taking up more than his fair share of space. But that doesn't mean he deserved what followed. To my chagrin, the manager boomed him out of the line. "THERE WERE PEOPLE WAITING," she shouted.

"But I was waiting, too," he noted calmly, and not improperly.

But she would have none of it. She badgered him loudly until he put his cart in reverse. Suddenly, I found myself in front of him, too disoriented and embarrassed to remember to do the proper thing and let him ahead of me. When I finally realized what I had done, most of my groceries were already on the conveyor belt. I made myself look him in the eye and say, "I'm so sorry about that. That was so confusing."

He met my eyes, not unfriendly at all, and said, "That's OK. They should have more checkers." He continued to make me feel better and worse at the same time by being extra sweet to baby G, who was happily playing with the Cheerios box in the basket.

After that, the experience kept going downhill. Little chickadee coughed dramatically all over her hands before giving me my receipt (sigh), but the weirdness wasn't over. Just as I was about to peel out of there with the packed cart, the frail little employee who bagged the groceries stepped in front of me. She had surprising stamina for her appearance--it looked like the effort of hefting just one soup can into a shopping cart would be enough to overwhelm her.

I stopped the cart, adjusted the baby on my hip, and moved my wallet to my free hand.

"That wallet you have," she said. "I saw it on TV."

I should mention that the wallet in question is a handy all-in-one number with a key-chain, a cell-phone pocket, and a zipper pouch with pockets for ID, credit cards, etc. But it's not particularly unusual looking. It's a pretty shade of red, but that's its one real distinguishing feature. And I'm pretty sure she didn't see this particular wallet on TV--my wallet-giving benefactress doesn't watch infomercials.

Uh-oh, I thought. This is not going anywhere good."It... it was a gift," I mumbled, hoping this true tidbit would get me out of the conversation in a hurry. The last thing I wanted was to prolong my Ralph's experience by chin-wagging about wallets with the bag clerk.

"$19.99," she said, awed. She turned to the baby in my arms. "Your mamma has good taste."

Good meaning expensive, I could see. Mortifying.

"Can I see it? I think it's the same one," she said, reaching out her hand. "With the pocket for the credit cards..."

While technically, the touch of one cart wheel would have felled her, I couldn't do it. Pretending not to understand, I turned the wallet over in my hand, just showing her the back of it. "Yeah, that sounds like it."

"Well," she said conspiratorially. "Your friend got it on the Internet."

It is rare that I find myself at a loss for words, but rack my brain as I might, I could not come up with the proper, expedient response. "Oh," I said finally, practically doing a wheelie with the cart in my 180-degree getaway maneuver. "You have a good day, now."

"You, too!" she called after me, in a voice that said she knew my secret and would keep it forever.

There are tons of reasons not to go to this Ralph's. Like the time I saw the customer sneeze liberally all over the open vegetable displays. Or the day the rotting produce oozed out all over the floor of the fruit section, tripping up unsuspecting elderly customers until I practically had to sit on a manager to get a clean-up on aisle one already. And there was the time the staffer didn't know what barley was and showed me white rice after a 20-minute wait. But this really takes the cake. They won't be seeing this wallet again for a looooooooooooooong time. Preferably never.