Posted by Matt in philosophy, Throwback Thursday.
Tags: grocery shopping, metaphysics, philosophy, quality
I think we can all agree that recycling is a good thing. With that in mind, many of us make a strong effort to do so with aluminum cans and paper and plastics. What better way is there for this blog to show its support of recycling than by reusing older blog entries from the past 2.5 years that some of you might have missed the first time around? Without further ado, welcome to our semi-regular feature: Throwback Thursday.
Grocery Shopping and the Metaphysics of Quality
Originally Posted: 5/20/2007
In our house, I am the designated supermarket maven, combing row after row of superfluous metal shelving crowded with boxes and bags and cans of more or less nourishing foodstuffs, looking for the best deals on the healthiest products with which to provide my family with the sustenance that the millions of cells in their mortal shells need to maintain their life-preserving existence. So, I stock the rickety metal shopping cart, which I received from the pimply-faced bored teenager with an “I’d rather be smoking weed” look on his face, with leafy vegetables and snacks and the products of bovine lactations, before parking my load of wares at the nearest conveyor, where I am met by a less than halfhearted “How are you today?” from the haggard woman behind the counter, whose apathetic demeanor permeates the dull throbbing atmosphere of a Saturday afternoon at the local Schnucks.
So, the lady quickly snatches my items, one by one, and deftly slides them over the electronic scanning device, which I reckon neither of us have an inkling of how it works, before placing them in a petroleum-based plastic bag that will most likely eventually spell the death of both of us, before nonchalantly placing the bulging sacks of goodies in another, perhaps even more rickety, cart. Finally, after a few minutes of watching this young woman perform a task that, by her constant exasperated sighing, must be excruciatingly difficult to complete, she pronounces rather matter-of-factly, “You’re total is $54.76.
After fumbling with my wallet, which happens to made from the epidermis of yet another creature of bovine nature, my hand emerges with a cheaply made rectangular piece of plastic that symbolizes the entirety of my family’s monetary wealth. I then swipe that piece of simulated wealth through yet another piece of electronic wizardy and follow it’s every command, in a bit of backward subserviency, until this piece of man-made machinery that holds the key to my family’s sustenance for the week asks a simple, seemingly innocuous question, “Your total is $54.76. Is that O.K.?”
But wait a moment, how exactly am I supposed to interpret an inquiry like, “Is that O.K.?” How do you define the word O.K.? Why, in a tedious excursion to the local grocery store am I being asked to make a value judgement, a character-revealing exercise that will proclaim to the world my own worldview of quality that reaches into the very essence of my being, indeed even into my existence as a human being.
What is good? What is not good? How do we differentiate between the two? Perhaps I’m not comfortable with being the adjudicator of such an exemplification of relativity. Do I, as a human being, have the absolute authority to determine the worthiness of this commerical transaction?
The normally listless woman standing behind the counter could most likely see a perplexed look on my face as I stared at cold digital words on the small screen before me, when she finally, in an irritated, but still monotonous, tone, “Is there a problem, sir.”
“Ummm…kind of. Could you tell me what this means?” I asked, staring intently at the short query on the small monitor before my eyes.
She audibly sighed, probably while comtemplating my behavior that bordered on mental retardation in her mind, “Is the total correct? Did it add up the prices correctly?”
“Oh, thank you,” I replied. Suddenly it all made sense, so I loaded the consumables into my automobile and rambled the short distance back home, satisfied with another answer to the unrelenting quest through the mysteries of life.
Posted by Matt in Uncategorized.
Tags: grocery shopping, metaphysics, quality
Originally posted 5/20/07
In our house, I am the designated supermarket maven, combing row after row of superfluous metal shelving crowded with boxes and bags and cans of more or less nourishing foodstuffs, looking for the best deals on the healthiest products with which to provide my family with the sustenance that the millions of cells in their mortal shells need to maintain their life-preserving existence. So, I stock the rickety metal shopping cart, which I received from the pimply-faced bored teenager with an “I’d rather be smoking weed” look on his face, with leafy vegetables and snacks and the products of bovine lactations, before parking my load of wares at the nearest conveyor, where I am met by a less than halfhearted “How are you today?” from the haggard woman behind the counter, whose apathetic demeanor permeates the dull throbbing atmosphere of a Saturday afternoon at the local Schnucks.
So, the lady quickly snatches my items, one by one, and deftly slides them over the electronic scanning device, which I reckon neither of us have an inkling of how it works, before placing them in a petroleum-based plastic bag that will most likely eventually spell the death of both of us, before nonchalantly placing the bulging sacks of goodies in another, perhaps even more rickety, cart. Finally, after a few minutes of watching this young woman perform a task that, by her constant exasperated sighing, must be excruciatingly difficult to complete, she pronounces rather matter-of-factly, “You’re total is $54.76.
After fumbling with my wallet, which happens to made from the epidermis of yet another creature of bovine nature, my hand emerges with a cheaply made rectangular piece of plastic that symbolizes the entirety of my family’s monetary wealth. I then swipe that piece of simulated wealth through yet another piece of electronic wizardy and follow it’s every command, in a bit of backward subserviency, until this piece of man-made machinery that holds the key to my family’s sustenance for the week asks a simple, seemingly innocuous question, “Your total is $54.76. Is that O.K.?”
But wait a moment, how exactly am I supposed to interpret an inquiry like, “Is that O.K.?” How do you define the word O.K.? Why, in a tedious excursion to the local grocery store am I being asked to make a value judgement, a character-revealing exercise that will proclaim to the world my own worldview of quality that reaches into the very essence of my being, indeed even into my existence as a human being.
What is good? What is not good? How do we differentiate between the two? Perhaps I’m not comfortable with being the adjudicator of such an exemplification of relativity. Do I, as a human being, have the absolute authority to determine the worthiness of this commerical transaction?
The normally listless woman standing behind the counter could most likely see a perplexed look on my face as I stared at cold digital words on the small screen before me, when she finally, in an irritated, but still monotonous, tone, “Is there a problem, sir.”
“Ummm…kind of. Could you tell me what this means?” I asked, staring intently at the short query on the small monitor before my eyes.
She audibly sighed, probably while comtemplating my behavior that bordered on mental retardation in her mind, “Is the total correct? Did it add up the prices correctly?”
“Oh, thank you,” I replied. Suddenly it all made sense, so I loaded the consumables into my automobile and rambled the short distance back home, satisfied with another answer to the unrelenting quest through the mysteries of life.
Posted by Matt in Uncategorized.
Tags: grocery shopping, memory
Originally posted 4/23/07
This evening I was ambling along the aisles of our local market, pushing that wheeled contraption of metal and plastic with spinning, squeaky wheels that invariably pull to the right from years of abuse, which contained a small mountain of foodstuffs piled high and most likely glutted with enough semi-toxic chemicals to decimate an entire tribe of indigenous people with weaker immune systems than our own. Let’s face it, grocery shopping just isn’t a very enjoyable experiece – you spend what seems like an eternity poring over labels with cryptic measurements that nobody actually uses and over price tags looking for the best deal without completely sacrificing the health and well-being of your children, before stumbling to the one operative register, where the column of people stretches farther than the eye can see and you can’t help but think this must be like the line to see God on judgement day when your last name begins with a W.
But, I digress, on this fine evening in northern Mississippi I was sauntering down the aisle when a female voice called out, “Hi, Matt.” So, I turn around and poised in front of me is an attractive young woman, with blonde hair and glasses, who for some odd reason looks vaguely familiar. She goes on to ask about D and the girls and so on and so forth, but the whole time I’m racking every neuron that is still somewhat functional, quickly turning the pages of the discombobulated book of names and faces in my head, trying to figure out who this is and how she knows my family. By the time I bid her farewell, I had reached the conclusion that we must have gone to the same church at some point prior, but her name was still just out of reach.
Do any of you also have problems with names? I know most of my predicament stems from suffering a massive cerebral injury several years ago, but, even though I know the source of my memory struggles, it doesn’t make it any easier. I’ve been know to meet someone and promptly disremember the principle distinction used to tell one human being from another within the hour, if not sooner. It’s frustrating, but I’ve mastered the art of smiling and nodding and looking at least somewhat cognizant of what is going on around me.
So, if I ever stop to chat with you, but look a bit confused (at least more than normal) and never call you by your name, please don’t take it personally. Just mention your name in an unassuming manner so that I don’t have to risk the embarassment of not knowing some long-lost friend or family member.
Thank you for your cooperation.
