By Cherimie Crane Weatherford
No matter the current circumstances, I have found that humor still exists within humanity. Often, in times of stress, conflict, and, dare I say, politics, a good sense of humor is the thin line between a good day and an arrest record.
I find the human race as entertaining as we are complex. We rush around like fiddler crabs, eagerly seek out moments of excitement like seagulls, and approach dangerous situations like a deer caught in headlights.
Some surround themselves with mockingbirds, while others seek out quiet corners like the solitary sandpiper. Our days morph into routines so easily set on co-pilot that Monday and Wednesday might as well be purple and pink.
The most accessible place to see this on display is to visit our newest grocery store. Finding more commonality with the solitary sandpiper, I took my time before exploring the depths of frozen foods, canned goods, and toilet paper intermingled with the intricacies of happy hour.
Businesses reflect the public they wish to attract, so I mentally prepared for a unique experience. My preparations proved to be inadequate.
Usually, my husband sashays the aisles of the grocery store, doing our shopping in between grabbing things on the top shelf for those under six feet tall. He is particularly unbothered by the things I find to be remarkably odd. He sees my rationale for avoiding grocery stores as far more intriguing. I bravely went alone to prove to him that I was an adaptive creature.
The doors slide open with a chilling arctic blast, and I move forward cautiously as I prefer sensory deprivation to sensory accumulation. I barely had time to adjust to the live band across from the pre-sliced cantaloupe before absorbing the jumbo-sized wine glasses that accessorized the shopping carts filled with organic potato chips.
Instantly, I knew I was in over my head. The parameter is usually my favorite pathway; however, the basic rules of grocery store engagement were as absent as the once universally accepted elevator music. Every inch, corner, and duck-and-hide nook buzzes with activity. I have entered a new dimension in sustenance procurement. Within moments, I understand the importance of Piggly Wiggly.
The new store is beautiful, with mind-boggling cheese choices, a live band playing in the bar, and a live lobster tank beside the frozen shrimp. It reminded me of my first trip to a shopping mall. There are so many choices, bright colors, and bustling shoppers that directional paralysis takes hold. The only things missing were an escalator and my 90s haircut.
Statistics show we are increasingly tired, stressed, and overwhelmed. In the past four years, we have adapted in more ways than we ever dreamed. Up is no longer just up; down can be up, depending on where you stand. Right is right until it is wrong, and wrong is always everyone else.
Based on a few other solitary sandpipers that backed slowly away from the Taj Mahal of packaged meat, I am not the only one holding on to a simpler time. I just want to get my eggs, browse a mentally manageable aisle of dish soap, and complain to no one in particular that prices are just way too high.
Every day, we encounter considerable challenges. We must continuously make impactful decisions, some easy and some seemingly impossible. We do our best to understand the differences in perspectives, ideologies, and shopping preferences. We don’t have to file into checkout lines that don’t align with our shopping beliefs. We don’t have to protest live lobster tanks to protect our frozen shrimp.
In a world where there are many Harris Teeters, Piggly Wiggly still stands, and somehow, they peacefully coexist, meeting the needs of those who seek out obscure cheese and those who prefer a straightforward path to eggs, leading me to the belief that there is hope for us all. We have the freedom to choose. Happy shopping.
Cherimie Weatherford is a long-time real estate broker, small business owner, wife and mom in beautiful Beaufort. She is the Director of Operations and Programs for the Freedman Arts District.
