Any chance you’ve felt kind of stupid lately?
Have you felt stupid lately?
I did one day last week when I was grocery shopping.
Now before I go any farther with this, let me make myself perfectly clear — my feel-stupid experiences are not limited to one per week.
Or when I happen to be pushing a buggy to fill it with food and almost always this involves a buggy that needs a serious WD-40 spraying to move at all and to not squeak and be embarrassing.
But sometimes at the grocery store, any sense of smartness I think I have can quickly evaporate, and I can experience multiple episodes of feeling as though I won’t be advancing to the head of the class any time soon.
So be it.
Any way, I usually feel a little dumb when I can’t find what I’m looking for. Or maybe I’m just feeling frustrated. Sometimes, it’s warranted; other times, maybe not.
I don’t know who decides where stuff goes on shelves, but personally I think bread crumbs, for instance, should be in the bread aisle, and ice cream cones should at least be within shouting distance of the ice cream and ice cream novelties.
That sounds like an expectation coming from the voice of reason, yes?
I mean why would you put ice cream cones next to the crackers and almonds and pecans?
That seems kind of nutty.
Grocery shopping isn’t supposed to be a friendly game of hide-and-go-seek-and-maybe-find or a scavenger hunt where all items detected amount to items you don’t have to pay for because you’re clever and observant and aisle savvy.
But hey, grocery stores are a lot smarter than the dumb consumers like me who support them.
I feel a little intelligence-challenged, too, when it’s my turn at the checkout line and I get my little check scolding reminder from a clerk old enough to be my great-grandchild.
“You don’t need to fill that all out, ma’am,” the youthful employee will instruct me as I ignore him or her and dig instead for a pen, wondering aloud what today’s date is.
I get one of those looks.
I left the store with a bad attitude and no ice cream cones, the latter of which would guarantee a little scolding no doubt from Better Half urging me to be a more diligent searcher of such things next time.
I put it all behind me as I pushed my buggy to the car as if it were an Olympian sport. Sometimes I ride the back of the buggy, but there was no slope or hill to support that effort this time.
So I just pushed it along at a feverish pace.
I had a lot to load in the trunk so I had my keys ready to open the hatch and get going but the back wouldn’t open, no matter how many times I pressed the key pad.
But I was persistent.
It’s like when you refuse to acknowledge that the TV remote isn’t working because the batteries are bad. It’s because you’re not aiming the remote at the TV the right way.
In this case, the batteries were fine. The keypad was fine. The effort was fine.
It was the wrong car.
Right color. Right make and model.
Wrong dealership. Wrong license plate number.
Have you felt stupid lately?
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)