Groceries, Lager, and Saturdays
Tale of the mundane
It is Sunday. I have to go for groceries alone. My wife can’t go because we’re looking after her brother’s dog for a week and we don’t want to leave him alone in the apartment. I don’t feel like going for groceries alone. And my wife can’t go alone too because I don’t want her to go alone. Or maybe I am too scared to be with the dog alone.
What makes it worse is that it is snowing here in Barrie, Canada. We don’t have a car. Which means brutal wind, lethal cold, and frustrating bus delays. I don’t want all that for a Sunday. I have the right to want, don’t I?
But we’re out of chicken and eggs. We wouldn’t mind that but we’re out of tomatoes too. And my wife minds that.
I need to have chicken. For my mind, feelings, and body.
My wife doesn’t care much about chicken. Maybe because she already has a big one in her life.
The only option I am left with is to use the Uber app to order groceries from Walmart or Food Basics. When I checked it earlier, it showed the normal amount plus a five-dollar delivery charge and ~ $ 10 HST.
Not bad, is it?
I look at our financial situation with my minimum wage and wonder if I should be enjoying such privileges. That’s why I kept asking you about rights and wrongs. I ask myself if I am not in a situation of struggle. Where I should be groping and crawling and fighting in the cold Canadian winter for items with the lowest price?
But the problem is that I only wonder. I don’t fear. And my wife isn’t afraid too. So that helps. But why? Why aren’t we afraid like other one-year-old immigrants? Saving a dollar. Sharing an apartment.
We’ve got family members in Canada who trust us with their dog, that’s why.
Isn’t it?
Last Friday I bought a six-pack of Moosehead Lager. I have finished four cans. I can’t decide if I should finish the two today or keep it for next weekend. What I am clear about is that I don’t want to go out and buy any more beer.
Sometimes clarity on the simplest matter is all we have in life. Might as well be proud of it.
Saturday means a lot to me these days. It is a day I anticipate with desperation from Mondays. It is a day that halts my 9-5 manual labor routine and resumes my learning and writing. I look forward to a Saturday like I looked forward to Saturdays in school. It’s a day when I can finally spend a relaxed time in my bathroom. I dream, I plan, I want to relax on a Saturday. No groceries. I want to live my life on a Saturday. Groceries are for Sundays.
Saturday is better than Sunday because Sunday is merely a day before another Monday. I try to live on a Saturday. Saturday is the best because I don’t look at it as another day before the day before another Monday.
So, what did I do yesterday, on a Saturday?
I woke up. Drank a big mug of black coffee. Applied for the job I loved. Talked with my parents back home. Vaped. Took a long shit. Wrote. Had sex twice. Slept. Woke up. Took a long shit. Tried to read. Watched an old mystery movie. Slept. Ate. Read. Tried having sex again. And fell asleep listening to stories about spooky Canadian lakes. I did wake up to the sound of our guest dog wanting to go for an outdoor break and my wife taking him outside, but I was too tired to go with them.
A great Saturday. A Saturday I am going to want to better come tomorrow, a Monday.
Q: What did you do on your Saturday?
Q: How do you go for groceries (if you don’t have a car)?