The day my faith in human nature was restored

Written by Ellen Beveridge
Friday, 18 September 2009 13:08

Why is grocery shopping such a chore? I often wonder how many other women (and men and squalling babies stuck in shopping carts) feel the same as I do.

I tell myself how fortunate I am that there is food available and that I have the money to buy it. Which brings to mind my childhood days when food left on my plate would bring a parental admonishment: “Think of all the children starving in Africa”...or China, or wherever...So I do my best to food shop with a positive attitude.

But here’s another question: When is an incident of forgetfulness the harbinger of senility, or just something that can happen? I would ponder that question after a particularly harrowing grocery shopping experience I had one early spring day.

I don my jacket, tuck my shopping list in my purse, jump in my car and I’m on my way to the local supermarket. I find a parking space, and as I head for the store’s entrance I stuff my keys in my jacket pocket. It’s a habit, and I do it without thinking. As the doors swing open automatically, I grab a shopping cart and begin my journey up and down the aisles.

Finally, when all the items on my list are accounted for (and then some), I make it to a cashier, and before I unload the groceries from cart to counter, I reach in my jacket pocket for my keys with the store’s identifying tag attached. After the cashier swipes the tag, the keys go back in my pocket, and I begin unloading the groceries from cart to counter and help bag them — anything to get the process over with as quickly as possible.

Out in the parking lot I unload the bags from cart to car, grab the keys from my pocket and jump in the car. At home, as I’m carrying the bags from car to kitchen counter, a heart-stopping thought hits me: “Where is my purse?”

I search the house, but I have no recollection of carrying it inside the house in the first place. Frantically I search the car. I am overwhelmed with the realization that I probably never took the purse out of the cart! (It isn’t the type of purse I can toss over my shoulder.) What was I thinking, or not thinking? Why this stupid forgetfulness?

As I drive back to the store, my mind is a whirlwind of fearful thoughts that make my heart pound. I take a deep breath, it doesn’t help. My reaction is even more acute because of a frightening purse incident I experienced a year before.

It happened like this: It was dark outside as I got out of my car and approached a friend’s house. My purse was hanging on my right arm that was extended because in that hand I was carrying a house plant for my friend. Suddenly, my purse was literally grabbed off my arm, the plant went flying across the front lawn, and two figures quickly disappeared down the street.

It was only after I faced the hassle of dealing with a lost driver’s license, credit cards and all the other important wallet items that the purse was found and returned to me. The wallet was intact, but naturally all the money was long gone. I should note that my habit of stashing my keys in my jacket pocket saved me the possibility of having my car stolen or my house broken into.

Now back to my grocery shopping. As I drive into the parking area I am trying desperately to remember where I parked the first time, hoping against hope that I find the cart with the purse still in it. My home is only about 10 minutes from the store, so I try to take comfort in the thought that it hasn’t been THAT long since I was there.

No luck. There are a few carts scattered about, but they are all empty. I dash into the store and up to the customer service desk. I’m in such a panic that I can hardly speak. “Was a brown leather purse turned in?” I finally manage to blurt out.

The clerk gives me a long look and then goes behind a closed door. It seems like forever before she returns with my purse in hand. My relief is palpable. I am somewhat astonished and so grateful to find everything intact; even the two birthday cards I purchased are still in the side pocket of the purse.

I ask the clerk if the finder left a name. No, I’m told. I want so much to express my appreciation to this kind and honest person, so I decide to write a “Letter to the editor” that is published in a local newspaper. I ask the person to contact me through the newspaper office. Sadly, there is never a response.

To date, I haven’t experienced any more significant signs of forgetfulness. Nevertheless, my purse is the first thing I grab now before unloading shopping bags from cart to car.