When the Produce Section is out to get You

From a produce section near you...
From a produce section near you...

My mum always nags me about eating more fruits. I like to follow her advice but the truth is I am scared of the produce section. You never know what the protocol is over there. What to weight, how to weight and where to weight?! Questions with no easy answers. Seems like every country I go to have its own produce laws. There are no standards in this wild frontier of the supermarket.

The queue was longer than the line for a hush puppy warehouse sale. People were impatiently waiting for their turn to pay. I was a bit apprehensive. I bought some fruits. Yeap, I man up this time and went into the produce section. Despite that, I couldn’t help but feel something is going to go wrong. Then, it was my turn.

She started beeping my stuff… And on cue, stopped at my grapes. I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. It didn’t help that it was in Arabic. Then French. But based on her sign language, I think my worst fears were being realized. The grapes were not priced! I ignored the killer stares from the family behind me, grabbed the grapes and ran to the dreaded produce section. Along the way, I had to dodge 5 carts, 3 unruly brats and a really slow moving couple who should be spending more time in the produce section than the chocolate shelves.

Finally with minimal bruising, I turned the corner to the weighing counter. It was empty. As I was about to use the scales, this kid cuts in. She couldn’t have been more than 6 with a pony tail trying to reign in a messy hairdo, tiny freckles and a height that couldn’t reach to the top of the scales. She then turns and narrows her eyes at me. She was a quarter of my size but I don’t mind admitting I was scared. I help her by putting her lettuce on the scales. It gets weighted and priced. She pulls her lettuce bag down, sticks out her tongue at me and runs off. God, I hate the produce section!

The line is now 2 miles long. Every eyes turns to me as I run to the head of the queue. The hostility made the air stuffy. I didn’t care though. I got my grapes weighted, priced and I return triumphant like a conquering hero. I looked at the cashier and held up my grapes with confidence reserved only for Bond. Our eyes meet. She was holding up something too. My confidence plummeted.

Oh shit! I forgot the strawberries.

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