Welcome to Food Lion

If you’ve wandered in during the last few days, that’s the greeting you’re supposed to get. The poor guy putting up fruit yelled, “Welcome to produce.” Everyone in earshot agreed that if you don’t know you’re in produce, you’ve got bigger problems.

Toward the end of a shift, several weary employees have slipped up and said “Welcome to Wal-Mart.” My fave checkout lady has refused to shop with her employer since the edict occurred. In solidarity with my friends, I’ve agreed to reply “I’d rather be at Harris-Teeter.” But truthfully, unless I need to pick up a retired stripper in the wine aisle, I actually prefer some of the Food Lion brand products to those of H-T.

Speaking of which, I was sent last Friday to Wine Warehouse with a list to purchase for the memorial service. I spent a good hour perusing the aisles, met no RSILFs, but did come up with a respectable cart of inexpensive choices. Even so, we went back Saturday and traded them in on even cheaper selections. Another person might have become annoyed, but my motives were pure and I took no offense.

None of the sociopaths brought any beer and my twelve Moosehead vanished in no time. Not only do Narcissists have no political ideology, they apparently don’t know where the grocery store is, either. Of course, the widely shunned step-father’s son, a disabled vet, offered me a lime Bud Light when I walked through his door, and wouldn’t let us leave without a bag of veggies from his amazing garden.

I spent as much time with the step-father and son as I could and bragged about them endlessly. I simply refuse to let them be shunned more than me.