Invisible shopper winds up empty-handed
“We should stop at the grocery store,” my wife said on our way home from a morning-long adventure.
“Not the best idea,” I said. “We are both hungry, and furthermore, just across town is a fridge filled with two weeks' worth of groceries we bought only a day or two ago.”
“Well, there are just a few things I still need, so … ”
There was no way out. As a compromise, I talked Kristin into giving me her list of “just a few things” so I could run in while she and the dog remained in the car.
“You owe your mom a phone call anyhow,” I said. “Ring her while I’m in there, and I won’t have to listen to one side of a conversation as we drive home.”
Such a simple solution. John alone and with a list is 1,000 times more likely to result in a no-frills, low-budget, quick-turnaround shopping excursion than either of the alternatives. If we went in together, we’d end up with the makings of a four-course dinner. If Kristin went in alone, we’d end up with duplicates of nearly every item already in our refrigerator at that very moment. (“I wasn’t sure if we needed mustard, so I just went ahead and bought some.”)
I grabbed my reusable shopping bags from the back seat and hit the aisles, pushing one of those half-sized carts designed to make you feel like you’re still getting your money’s worth when you drop a hundred bucks on a cartful of groceries.
As a boy I actually worked as a grocery stocker for a time, and I still take great pride in knowing where most things are in our local store. I made the rounds with efficiency and deft. Within minutes I was queued into the checkout lane behind an old guy who was carrying just a handful of items.
I’ll be headed back to the car in no time at all, I thought as I plopped my items onto the conveyor. That’s when the process came to a grinding halt. The old guy was paying for a six-pack of beer, a can of chili and a box of soda crackers with a $50 bill. Change became an issue — and not just a simple one. When his mental math hit the guardrail, he whipped out a calculator and took to figuring things with a fat thumb and a heavy dose of attitude.
Moments like these require action, and I quickly decided the best use of my time and keenly developed set of crisis mediation skills was to dash off down the aisle for one more item I had just happened to remember. I figured if I was gone for a minute or two, the dispute would be resolved and I could get on with my own transaction and, subsequently, my life.
Speaking of minutes, it had apparently been a good, long while since I’d last searched for those little red sinus pills. I struck out again and again, then finally gave up and dashed back to the cash register to see that grumpy old Mr. Bigbucks had finally moved on, and there was no one between me and a speedy transaction.
That’s when I glanced down into my cart to find it empty! In horror I looked up at the cashier.
“You must be my invisible shopper,” she laughed. “I had a whole string of groceries come across the deck and not a soul around to account for them!”
“Oh, my gosh!” I blushed. “Was I really gone that long?”
“Long enough that I sent all of your stuff over to be restocked,” she said. “I didn’t think you were coming back!”
With that, she called over the intercom: “The invisible shopper has returned! Repeat, the invisible shopper has returned!”
The baggers and cashiers applauded, and random shoppers joined in. I melted into a puddle of embarrassment. I’m sending Kristin in next time.
Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.