The Opposite of a Lazy Sunday

One of the chores I hate most about adulthood is the weekly supermarket trip. You think it'd be fun because I'm surrounded by food, but it never is. Instead of impulse buying ice cream and Oreo's, I pretend I'm going to eat healthy for the week and stock my cart with leafy greens and lentils that will ultimately end up in the trash while we spend the week eating processed foods.

Not only is the grocery store a reminder of my constant dietary shortcomings, it's stressful AF. The parking lot, the produce department, the self-checkout that never scans properly - have you ever had a pleasant trip to the grocery store? I'm a huge fan of chains like Wegman's and Trader Joe's, but the sheer volume of people takes any joy out of it. Recently, I figured out a way to incorporate fun into the dreaded chore: I'd bike there!

When I got my spring tune-up at the bike shop, I bought a rear rack and strapped a milk crate on it. In my mind, I'd be pedaling down the road with two or three canvas bags loaded with our groceries. In this scenario, I'm also sporting a beret in lieu of a helmet and have a baguette poking out the bag.

As confident I was in my plan, I was still learning the ropes and convinced Brent to come with me on my inaugural grocery ride. He was less than thrilled to have his first ride of the season be on a 40 degree day and a supermarket run no less, but he humored me.

We got to store, locked our bikes up out front and began to shop. After getting the necessities, Brent pointed out a few more items. He's a big juice drinker and wanted orange juice and a fruit punch. He mentioned we could probably use more milk. The crate I'd build in my mind as the answer to my grocery prayers suddenly seemed laughable.

After paring it down to the bare necessities for the week, we got in what appeared to be the shortest line. This store doesn't have self-checkout, so we figured the man with two items left on the conveyor bet was our best bet. It went downhill immediately, as the cashier repeatedly scanned a bag of clementines to no avail, the register clearly not picking up a price tag. We weren't paying attention at this point, but the cashier was getting more agitated with no response from the man. Finally the cashier said, I have to go get the price, picked up her cane, and hobbled out from the register towards the produce section.

When the cashier comes back, she's grumbling about the customer in front of her, complaining that he didn't have enough sense to look at prices. "Don't you know you're supposed to know how much things cost?" she nearly bellows at him. This is news to me. I just scan the shelves for the cheapest price and throw the item in my cart. I couldn't tell you how much a single thing costs by the time I get to the checkout. Next the cashier tells the customer to open the bag, that she can't do everything for him.

Brent and I have a whispered conversation about whether we can discreetly take our groceries off the conveyor belt, put them back in the cart and get in another line. Finally the man shuffles away with his groceries and the cashier turns her attention to us. We brace ourselves for her wrath, but she only wants to complain about the customer who is still essentially in earshot. Brent starts bagging enthusiastically to make this exchange as quick as possible.

By the time we're out of the store, it's immediately clear that two bags won't fit in the milk crate. We stuff one bag in and haphazardly place items that bend easily -shredded cheese, tortillas, frozen veggies- around the crate. We had a drawstring backpack for our helmets while we walked around the store. Brent uses that for our frozen pizzas and they barely fit, the straps of the bag so tightly drawn across Brent's shoulders they'll surely leave an indent.

We're on the final leg of our trip and I'm in the lead so Brent can pick up the groceries if a car hits me and scatters them across the road. Brent's bike makes a noticeable squeak and at one point I stop hearing the squeak. I turn around and see him several yards behind me, so I wait for him to catch up. This happens the rest of the ride home, me stopping throughout so Brent can catch up. He's normally a much better rider than me, so I chalk it up to his first ride of the season.

I get to the house and wait outside for Brent. "Everything okay?" I ask as we ride into the driveway together. "I think I have a flat," he says. We pumped air in the tires before we left, so this is a very new development.

One week of breezy grocery shopping, is that too much to ask? Evidently.