Still lost in Publix

I feel Norma Desmond’s pain. You may recall the aging movie actress in “Sunset Boulevard.” Like Norma, I used to consider myself “big,” a captain of industry – making global strategic decisions and mobilizing thousands of fellow workers. 

Then came retirement. I descended the corporate ladder to assume a new role – administrative assistant to my lovely wife, Grace. I’m not lamenting being back on the bottom rung in this latest chapter of life. Grace has run the home ship superbly and deserves the skipper’s seat. It’s just the sobering reality of the old dogs and new tricks adage. 

I recently accompanied Grace on a senior-day shopping run to our new and expanded Publix supermarket on Daniel Island. As usual, I found myself following her around the store. 

I concluded this was part of the continuing training for my assistant shopper job, akin to the centuries-old practice in which guild apprentices, before embarking on a trade or craft, first observed the great masters of their day. Still, I felt prepared to take it to the next level.  

I suggested we could complete our chores more quickly if we each fetched multiple items from the grocery list, especially since the store now had twice as many aisles to traverse as our “old” Publix. Grace brought the shopping cart to a halt, looked at the list, and replied, “Okay, I’ll let you start with one item.” 

“I can do more than one,” I proudly boasted. 

“No. We’ll start with one,” the master reaffirmed, perusing the list. “How about bananas?” 

As I made a step toward the produce aisle, Grace grabbed my arm like a coach with a player poised to enter the game. “Remember, get four. Now, if they come more to a bunch, just break off four.”  

She held up four fingers and asked, “Okay? Got it? Four!” 

“Got it,” I reassured her, holding up the same number of digits. “Be right back.” 

Finding the produce department and bananas was no problem, nor was culling four good ones from a tropical six-pack. I hurried back to the bakery department where I had left Grace only to find she was no longer there. 

This presented a new obstacle – finding her among the many corridors that run the length and breadth of the store. I began to walk down the long path at the back of the store. Peering down each perpendicular aisle as I passed, I caught a glimpse of Grace headed down the long path in the front of the store. Calculating space and time quickly, I broke into a full run planning to shoot up one of the frozen food aisles to intercept Grace. I didn’t see a shopping cart exiting the frozen food aisle until it was too late. The collision knocked some of the cart’s contents – Old El Paso taco and tortilla shells – onto the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, reaching down to retrieve the jettisoned items. 

The cart driver, a young woman, inspected the mess. “I hope they aren’t broken.” 

“Let me get you replacements,” I offered. 

“That’s okay, I can get new ones,” she replied, soothing a toddler in the cart seat who had begun to whimper. 

“No, no,” I pleaded. “It was my fault. I’ll get them for you. What aisle are they on?” 

“I think of the one with sauces and spices, or maybe condiments, that way,” she pointed back toward produce while offering the kid some gummy worms.  

“Make sure the taco shells say ‘Stand ‘n Stuff,’” she said, adding, “While you’re there, could you also get me another can of refried beans?” 

“Got it,” I responded and headed off, feeling proud to be trusted to secure more than one item. Fortunately, there was one box of Old El Paso taco shells. I swapped the box of broken shells for it, made my way back to the young mother, placed the provisions gingerly in her cart, and offered one more apology. 

“Oh, that’s okay, it’s just that Trey here loves his tacos,” she smiled, nodding toward her little boy, who pulled a gummy worm from his mouth and held it out for me to see or maybe even taste.  

I declined the sticky treat and walked briskly toward the pharmacy side of the store. Despite my taco diversion, this was the direction I had last seen Grace going. Passing each aisle, I looked for her while also keeping a safe distance from any exiting carts. 

At paper products, I saw Grace again, on the long front aisle but now headed back toward the bakery side of the store. I turned and jogged that way, noting I was gaining on her with each aisle we passed. 

It was a bit like playing the board game Clue – when you know the culprit and weapon (e.g., Colonel Mustard and the lead pipe), and you are racing to reach the crime room before your opponents. I sprinted ahead and dashed down the cereal aisle hoping to intercept Grace. Midway, I met the Old El Paso mother and child. She saw me coming, pulled her cart sharply to the side, and bent over it with her arms sprawled out to guard the kid and contents. 

“Thanks,” I gasped as I sped past. At the end of the aisle, I came face-to-face with Grace.  

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you,” she inquired. 

“Getting these bananas,” I replied, holding up my right hand and then my left. Unfortunately, both were empty. I must have set the darn bananas down when I picked up the taco shells and refried beans.  

“Be right back,” I declared, and then paused. “Don’t move,” I pleaded, holding both palms out. “Stay right here,” I begged as I trotted toward the taco shells. 

“Bananas are the other way, Magellan,” Grace called after me. 

“I know. You’ll see,” I shot back over my shoulder. I located the bananas nestled among the salsa and picante display. I hurried back toward Grace. She had ignored my request and meandered toward the bottled water and soft drink shelves. 

“Yes, we have four bananas,” I sang, offering my trophy, as I caught up to her. 

“Oh, those are too ripe,” Grace declared. 

My heart sank. My reach for more responsibility wasn’t going well. 

“Always get them yellow-green, but not too green. Never all yellow, they over-ripen so quickly. Think chartreuse,” she explained.  

“And be sure to put them in this,” Grace continued, holding out a small plastic bag, which she, like a magician, made appear from nowhere. 

I trudged back to the banana stand and surveyed for chartreuse, wishing I had paid more attention to color hues in art appreciation class. I located four that looked the appropriate shade and stuffed them into the plastic bag.  

“Here you go,” I stated, handing her the bag of yellow-green bananas. 

“Let’s see, four bananas in fifteen minutes,” Grace said slowly, looking at her watch. “At this rate, we should be out of here by next Tuesday.” 

“I can do better,” I pleaded. “Give me another assignment.” 

“Do you think you can find the yogurt?” Grace asked. 

“Find it?” I gasped. “I’ve passed the dairy case four times getting the bananas and looking for you. Why didn’t you…” 

“One item at a time,” the master interrupted, holding up a single finger. “Now, if you want to be useful, get six yogurts. But don’t get any strawberry. Be sure to check the expiration date.” 

“Okay, okay, got it,” I replied, making my way to the dairy case. I picked out six yogurts (two each of cherry, blueberry, and harvest peach) and carried them back to Grace’s cart. 

“Where’s the bag?” she asked, inspecting the pile of yogurt containers cupped in my hands. 

“Bag?” 

“Yes! I always put them in a bag to keep them together.” 

“What kind of bag?” 

“Like this one,” Grace replied, holding up the bag of bananas. 

“Sheesh! Where are the bags?” I sighed. 

“Right next to the bananas, Dear,” Grace smiled. “Back in produce.”  

As we loaded our purchases into the car, I figured I had flunked my assistant shopper promotion exam. I made a mental note to hide an AirTag in Grace’s purse next time we went to Publix. That would make it easier to find her in the bigger store. 

I was caught off guard when Grace smiled and said, “Thanks for your help, Norma.” 

“Norma? You mean like Norma Desmond?” 

“No,” Grace replied, adding, “Are you wearing your hearing aids?” 

When I didn’t respond, she continued, “I said, 'Thanks for your help, Norman,' as in Norman Thayer in the movie “On Golden Pond.’” 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I said softly. 

“How about a latte?” Grace suggested. “I’ll treat.” 

“Sure.”  

“Plus,” she added, “this isn’t the only treat I have for you today.” 

“Really?” I replied, eager to hear what else she had in mind. 

“I got you something special for dinner.” 

“What?” 

“Mexican fare. Publix had a special today on Old El Paso and I got the last box of taco shells.”