Tag Archives: adult

The Candy Aisle

I was at the grocery store the other day and I when I got to the checkout, for some reason, I don’t know why, I turned my head to the side, right at that wall of candy they always put next to every cashier. That’s so lame, what a cheap trick. It’s like, we’re already shopping at your store because, well, we have to. This is where we get food. And we’re just trying to do our thing, get our meat and veggies, our bread and juice and milk, whatever, take the money. But then we have to wait on line and get taunted by candy?

the_candy_aisle

And I can’t even imagine what that’s got to be like for a mom or a dad, like if they’re raising little kids and can’t find somebody to watch them while they get the grocery shopping done. I remember being a little kid myself, I would be super bored having to walk through the whole grocery store with my mom, not watching TV, not playing with any of my action figures or Legos.

And once you finally get close to the end, you’re on line to check out, this time the waiting is worse, because you have to stare at this whole wall of candy taunting you, it’s saying, “Hey buddy, why don’t you ask your mom if you can buy some of us? We’re so tasty and sweet! Come on do it!” and you’re like, “Hey Mom. Mom? Mom. Mom! Mom! Mom!” and she’s like, “What? What is it?” and you’re like, “Mom. Can I get some candy?” And she’s like, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop asking me to buy candy? We’re not buying any candy!”

And then you look back at the candy, at those sugar covered peach rings and Skittles and giant peanut looking pink gummy things, and you’re like, “Sorry guys, my mom said no.” But they don’t stop. They start giggling, taunting, you’re thinking, what’s so funny? Are they laughing at me? They say, “No, we’re not laughing at you. We’re laughing because it’s so simple, just pick us up, put us on the conveyor belt. Your mom’s not going to see. And then after she pays, just take us out of the shopping bag and bring us up to your bedroom.”

So you look to your mom, she’s counting coupons or helping bag the groceries and you think, yeah, maybe I can get away with it. Maybe I’ll just go for the Sour Patch Watermelons here, and as long as the cashier slides them into the bag before … “Hey!” your mom saw you moving your arm toward the candy, “Don’t even think about it!”

And that’s the end of that. But I’m an adult now, I’m a man. I was at that grocery store the other day, I looked at that wall for the first time in I don’t know how long, and I heard the candy again, they were like, “Rob! What the hell man? You’re an adult now! You’re a man! You can buy all of us! Come on dude, don’t be such a pansy, buy every single one of us, go home, open all the bags at once, and start eating until you throw up. Do it! We’re not fucking around here!”

So I was like, all right, all right, I’m going to buy some candy. It was weird though, it all looked so much brighter and better when I was a little kid. None of this stuff was even name brand, it was all just random loose candy in a generic plastic pouch, nothing even had any labels on it, it was like these grocery people bought the stuff in bulk and put it out for sale in cheap-o individual packets.

And while, yes, the selection was huge, when you go to inspect just what’s available for purchase, it’s all kind of weird stuff. Like one of the bags were these individually wrapped colorless, clear hard candies. With no label, I couldn’t figure out what they’d taste like. I took the bag and brought it close to my face, seeing if the individual labels might not provide a hint. They said, “menthol.” That was it, menthol. What the hell is that? Isn’t that a cigarette flavor? It’s like, it’s not mint, but it’s cold like mint, and that’s it. What kind of a psychopath buys a whole bag of plain menthol hard candies?

I was getting a little freaked out, so I went for a trusted classic, some sour gummy worms. At least, I though it was a trusted classic. I got home and opened them up, they didn’t really taste like sour gummy worms. They tasted like cotton candy. Not even. They tasted like cotton candy flavored bubble gum. And the consistency was all off. Instead of being like chewy and gummy, they were soft and gooey, like fruit snacks, like a really warm fruit roll-up.

But I still ate the whole thing. And now my mouth hurts. It’s all dry. I drank like three glasses of water but it didn’t quench the thirst, it just made me overly full and nauseous. I went online and started searching, seeing if there wasn’t anything that might help alleviate my discomfort. “Try some menthol hard candies!” it said, and I was like, no fucking way, this ends right now. But the next time I was at the grocery store, I turned toward that candy wall, and the menthol candies started screaming out to me, they were talking in this hoarse old-lady voice, “Come on Rob! You know you’re going to do it! Don’t make me ask twice, because I’m in your head now, get ready, it’s all menthol for you from here on out! Pucker up baby!”

Be an adult, man

I can’t take it anymore. I want out. No more of this conventional life. No more going to work and paying bills and flicking my cell phone on and off, even though nothing’s happening, no calls, tons of emails, way too many emails actually, but all junk email, TV shows that I don’t watch anymore sending me an update about last night’s episode, and tonight’s episode, and tomorrow’s, shoe manufacturers letting me know every single day about new shoes on sale, even though I only buy like one pair of shoes a year, even though when I bought them online, and it showed me a little check box, it was already checked, and it said, “Please! Keep me informed about daily deals and specials! Yes!” I made sure it was definitely unchecked, but despite my unchecking, the emails started trickling in, those crafty little algorithms refusing to take no for an answer, maybe we’ll just send him an email a day anyway, maybe he’ll buy more shoes, come on man, how about just buying one shoe? Of course I won’t buy any more shoes, but I’ll rarely go through the process of unsubscribing to those emails, you always have to open the email to find the unsubscribe button, also, it’s never a simple unsubscribing, it’s always, you will now be redirected to our web site where, amongst other nonsense, you’ll be able to hunt and dig for option to opt out of these emails, and even on that unsubscribe page, there’s still an option to stay subscribed, and of course the default, “No! I don’t know how I wound up on this page! Please, keep me updated on daily deals and specials! Yes!” is checked, another little trick.

No way, I’m totally over it, tired of getting that tiny dopamine kick every time I’m just sitting here trying to write, “ding!” email, one time out of every two hundred emails it’ll be something worth reading, but most likely it’s one of five hundred political action groups that somehow got their hands on my contact info, all of them peddling the same progressive agenda, each one of them asking for twenty five dollars, thirty five dollars, come on, just click here and make it an automatically reoccurring donation, make a difference, man, come on, man, fight the system, bro, you won’t even have to think about it. It’s like, we’ll take your money, you’ll get used to living with slightly less money, you won’t even notice it, and then we’ll start asking you for more, and then Obama’s going to be done with his second term and somebody’s going to take the reigns of that behemoth online donation machine. Who’s going to be asking for fifteen dollars every day two years from now, Biden? Clinton? Somebody else? Come on, just ten dollars. Thanks for the ten dollars. Hey, I have something else to ask you. Can I have ten more dollars? I know you just gave me ten, but, can you make it twenty? Every time you give it’s just an escalating cycle, asking for more and more almost immediately after.

Thanks, but no thanks. The only online shopping I’m going to be doing from now on is for hobo bindles. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hobo bindle in real life. What’s the point? Why not a backpack? I guess if you’re really out on your ass, you might not have a backpack readily available, maybe just a long stick, an oversized neckerchief. What do you put inside? Is it really easier to carry everything if it’s balancing on your shoulder at the end of that long stick? Maybe if I were to show up on the streets, on the back of some slow moving cross-country freight train with all of my stuff warm and dry in a backpack, whatever, in some messenger bag, maybe I’d be seen as a phony by the larger hobo community, because there’s always a natural amount of sympathy for any hobo, however reluctant we are to give it, nobody likes to see anybody out there, in the cold, hungry, dirty, down on their luck. But if that lifestyle is a choice? Then sorry pal, no soup for you, backpack or bindle, pick one, because nobody’s inclined to give you any sympathy at all. Why don’t you get back to work? How about charging up that cell phone and checking those emails? Paying for that cell phone bill on that cell phone bill-paying app? Because what’s wrong with you man? What’s your deal? You know how many people would kill to sit here and have people sell them stuff on a smart phone? Do you realize what an entitled whiny little brat you sound like? Get yourself together man, be a man, man, be an adult, dude.