an ode to a grocery store that felt like home

photo by thomas brock

an ode to a grocery store that felt like home 

second-year claire d’agostino

i don’t like the chaos of kroger. or the confusing layout of aldi. or the long checkout lines at walmart. or maybe i just don’t like the act of grocery shopping. the almost running into strangers with your cart. the pressure to buy all the right food groups. the awkward small talk at the checkout. 

the act of grocery shopping is one that requires playing pretend. i pretend like i am the type of girl who cuts fresh fruit to put in her water. i pretend like i do yoga when i wake up and meditate before i go to bed. i pretend like i am somebody who knows exactly what they want and is on the right path to get it. i pretend like i am playing some silly childhood game where i could be anyone who i wanted to be.  

but on the days that i yearn to feel a strange sense of comfort, i go to publix. 

these particular days, i instinctively turn my wheel and end up at this spot that is a beacon of my youth. in the parking lot, a list floats by, seemingly forgotten by its author. instead of allowing it to find a new home amongst the shopping carts, i reach down to pick it up.

maybe it’s silly, but i love seeing what other people buy at the grocery store. as i turn the paper over, two different handwritings greet me—one, clearly of an organized but stressed mother, and the other of a little girl, complete with hearts over the i’s, whose silly items, such as frosted animal cookies and extra cheddar goldfish, were crossed out.   

i picture myself as a child, always begging my mom to take me to publix just so i could get the free rainbow sprinkle bakery cookie. the bakery always had a distinct feeling of comfort and warmth. my brother and i would race to get to the counter first while our mom reminded us to say please and thank you. i loved people-watching and making up a story in my head for why each of them would buy the things they did. maybe they too were there just to observe.  

as i pass the bakery aisle that i now regard with a certain fondness, i picture myself years into the future. i’ll pick out all of the right ingredients to meal prep and create a menu for each week. i’ll go home and be excited to put everything into organized bins and label them. i won’t feel stress each time a stranger glances at my cart, but rather, pride in my ability to choose what i want.  

i see myself now, picking out the same items that the strangers before me carefully selected because i find myself in them. this sense of connection leads me to reflect on my own life. to buy the ingredients to make meals that can sustain me now. to continue to learn new cooking skills so that my future self will feel a sense of control each time she enters the kitchen. to never forget to buy snacks—no matter how “unhealthy”—for the younger version of myself. 

the days that i go to publix are the days that make me human. 

and on those days, i feel a little more whole.