Tag: stress

Supermarket Stress

I used to poke fun at my late Grandmother for going shopping on a Saturday morning. My grandmother never worked and had her days to herself. While she kept a nice house for her husband, she had ample time during the week to shop for food. Yet, there she was every Saturday morning. She fought the “stop/start walkers”. She also faced the “I’m not paying any attention to who’s around me” people, and the long register lines. I never understood how she wouldn’t go during off hours, as well as question how she was so calm.

I would later learn that she liked being around all of the people. Despite her Yankee Blue-Blood mannerisms, she was quite sociable and found the supermarket to be stimulating. I also like to be around people. However, my going to the market today was a mistake. I forgot it was a Saturday. Before Christmas. My God, what was I thinking?

I am in the accountability phase of my life, which I imposed on myself. I think a segment of my blog will be about what I did right and wrong each day. I believe this exercise will help me. I often struggle to reconcile my desired behavior with my actual behavior. I want to walk the walk, as it were. In this vein, let me say that I could have done better today.

I like to food shop. I always have a carefully prepared list, often in order based on the setup of the store. I put my ear buds in, find a good playlist and do my thing. With the music drowning it all out I do my thing. I’m usually patient with the unaware aisle blockers. I always wait patiently and graciously accept the inevitable apologies for holding things up. I make sure that I am not in the way. I also look out for the short person who can’t reach something on the top shelf. It’s a great opportunity to do something nice, and it is much in need. And above all, I’m always pleasant.

Today, while I don’t think I was rude or offensive to anyone, I could have done better. As a well-established sufferer of General Anxiety, I have mastered preventative measures. One of them is to recognize situations as potentially anxiety-inducing and either brace for it or avoid it entirely. Pulling into the parking lot today was a more than adequate warning. The lot was packed. People were scampering back and forth. The impatience of people waiting for a parking spot was evident. That served as fair warning. I contemplated not going in. I did need food but only a couple of items were needed to get through today. I decided that I would only grab a few items. Which would have been a good plan had I stuck to it.

I would pay for that error in judgment. I set myself up to get aggravated. Normally, I can handle a little aggravation. But I wasn’t prepared for the sudden stops. The aisles were blocked. People were completely unaware and perusing labels. Carts were stacked up like planes on a snowy runway. Add to this stress soup my very favorite occurrence. Every item I searched for had at least one person standing right in front of it.
That is where I could have done better.
With every aisle that I attempted to navigate, I was trying to make sure that I wasn’t in anyone’s way. A courtesy I was clearly alone in extending. It got to the point that everything I was trying to get was blocked by someone. I became overwhelmed, and while I didn’t actually say anything my face surely spoke volumes. I’m know for that, unfortunately.

I do not believe that I hurt any feelings. But, in my anxiety-fueled quest to get out of the congestion and chaos, I am sure that I looked annoyed. I might have even looked angry. And for that, I wish I could have done better. I consider myself a tolerant, patient and social person. I try to not be in a hurry, and I always take a deep breath and remind myself that I share this planet with other people. It bothers me that I failed to exhibit that today. I was simply overwhelmed.

This is a victimless crime. I’m sure nobody is thinking about the rude guy in the black hoodie. Because I wasn’t rude and it wasn’t that big of a deal. To them. To me, whenever I fail to act as the person I want to be I make a big deal out of it. It is part of my quest to be a better, more virtuous person.

Which brings me to the heart of the issue. I am not perfect, and I don’t understand why I am so hard on myself for merely being human. I think it’s fair to say that most mere mortals don’t hold themselves to such a standard. My only consolation is that I know it comes from a good place. I’m just trying to be accountable.

It’s been how long?

When I was in High School I had an awesome car. Not awesome in the vernacular of the day; I didn’t have anything expensive, exotic, or muscular but instead vintage and uncommon. My Great Uncle, who I had only met a few times, willed me his 1965 Ford Falcon when he passed in 1981. It was a fun car and I wish I still had it. Me and the Falcon, which my father’s “folksy racist” best friend referred to as “The ‘Coon” (my apologies) could be seen bombing around town on any given day. It was a joy to drive because it was a standard transmission with the shifter on the column, commonly referred to as a “three on the tree”. I’ll always be thankful that I was able to experience that, it was an unusual setup to have in the 80’s. The only drawback was that I couldn’t take advantage of the bench seats by wrapping my arm around my girlfriend because I needed it to shift. Like a dumbass, I got rid of the car to remedy this unfortunate situation. We soon broke up. I was left without the car and the girl. It was a unique situation that would never replicate itself.

Or so I thought. Should you tune in tomorrow you can join me as I tell you what I have been up to since I last posted. In April. Holy crap how did I get away from blogging for so long?

The odd encounter

There was something really strange about this kid. He was tempted to end this and take off. His phone had rung two more times since he got to his car and he knew that every ignored call was throwing logs on the shit bonfire that awaited him at home. Despite this, he remained glued to his spot.
“Let’s just say that I’m here, but I don’t belong here” the boy deftly replied.
“Then where do you belong?” Bill replied, despite feeling that he was better off not asking.

“A different time”, the boy exclaimed as he lowered his fixed gaze for the first time, turned his head, and stared directly at Bill. He felt as if he was staring directly through him. Bill pressed further.
“OK, what time do you mean?”The boy didn’t respond for a few moments. Finally, he turned and stared intently at Bill.
“I asked you if you ever looked up at the sky a few minutes ago. I asked because I wonder if you looked up even once. Did you even notice what a beautiful evening it is?.” He continued, “I asked you if you ever wondered what it was like to look down from a high tree. You had no answer. Why is that?”
“Because I don’t know who you are, where you’re from and how you know my damn name!” Bill was getting angry. He almost felt bad about raising his voice to the young, albeit creepy kid.
Unfazed, the boy continued. “I asked you about the trees because from the height of the tall tree you look small. We all do. Minor. Insignificant. Yet all you are focusing on right now is how big your problems are.” He paused. “See, the world is bigger than the size of the screen of your phone or laptop. If you looked around you would see that. But you need the phone and the computer to make money. To buy stuff, stuff that will further take your attention away from every beautiful day. It’s just stuff, yet it’s consuming you, ruining you.”

Bill was beside himself. This kid didn’t talk like any kid he ever met, and what the hell is he talking about?
“How do you know this?!”
The boy sat down in the grass Indian style. “Did you ever sit just like this?  Playing with Matchbox cars in the dirt until your mother called you? Riding bikes with your friends. You hated to go home, right? Just like now.You were having fun then. But that’s not why you don’t want to go home now, is it Bill?”

The matter-of-fact look on the kid’s friggin’ face was killing Bill. He was looking right through him again. Yet he had no reply.
The boy continued. He was on his back now. “Did you ever lie on your back like this for hours looking at the sky? Wondering about the clouds? The stars at night. The possibility of a Heaven? About God. Do you think about God, Bill?”
“Not as much as I should.” Bill was powerless to question the utterly bizarre nature of this conversation.

The boy was standing now. “You used to be a happy kid, right? Lots of friends. You knew where they were without Facebook. You would look for the yard with all the bikes in the yard. Your mom knew where you were because you called from a phone in that house, a phone mounted to a wall, right? The streetlight was your curfew, or maybe you were close enough to hear your mother call you.” He paused and looked at his feet.
“It’s not too late, Bill”, He continued. “There’s still time to be that happy kid again. Look up, look around. Chase butterflies, smell the flowers. Find happiness like you used to. Remember the view of the bird, to him you are small. Look down on your problems as the bird looks down at you. Small, insignificant. It will work out.” With that, the boy turned and began to walk away.

Bill Marshall, who had been at a complete loss for words for what seemed like forever, finally blurted out what he had wanted to ask all along.
“Kid, how do you know me? I mean, this is impossible! How can you possibly know all of these things about my childhood? Is this mere speculation or a theory of yours? Do you think or do you know all of this!”
The boy, turning as he walked, said, “I know it. Think about where we’ve met before”. He then winked at Bill and continued walking. For the first time, Bill noticed that the boy had an old-fashioned Slingshot in his back pocket.
He used to have one just like it!
He looked down at the ground, he then gazed to the night sky. It really was a beautiful evening.

He got in his car and turned the engine on. He bathed in the AC and observed that he felt a little better. Despite the episode of the Twilight Zone he just starred in. The conversation played out over and over in his head. The kid was weird but in a non-threatening way. And he looked vaguely familiar. Shaking his head in disbelief, or to make sure he was indeed awake and conscious, he put the car in gear.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had some old-school pictures to go home and look at.