Dear Grocery Store: I Hate You. Here's Why.

Dear Grocery Store,

In case you didn't know, I have paralyzing social anxiety (see Grocery Store pro/con list). This means that I usually live in my room, terrified to venture outside to talk to people or purchase vital substances like jewelry and sometimes food. People that know me in real life will probably be surprised to read this. "But you're so outgoing!" they'll say. They clearly have never been to a grocery store with me. I avoid visiting the same store twice because getting to know the cashiers means they will notice what I am buying. Then buying tampons will be awkward, and they will look down on me for needing 3 bags of chocolate covered marshmallow koala bears and a 6-pack of diet Coke on a daily basis.

It is even worse when I live in France, a country full of spite and hatred. Is French not your first language? You are clearly an idiot!! How did your two-week old brain NOT know that it needed to learn French rather than the language everyone around you was speaking?!

Today I succumbed to near-starvation and went to the grocery store to buy a sick-pack of diet Coke and some bread and cheese (I bought the koala bears yesterday, and I happen to know all 4 cashiers AND the manager, so I had to switch it up before they started refusing to support my sugar habit). It was all going fine until I got in line. The guy in front of me mumbled something French. I laughed "knowingly," because 90% of the time that gets me out of trying to understand whatever it was they said.

Of course, the other 10% of the time, the person stares at me blankly like I am high or possibly a sociopath because what they said was, "I'm homeless and my grandmother just died and I'm a persecuted minority in my country and I have a severe life-threatening medical condition that you are personally responsible for." And there I am giggling quietly while becoming suddenly fascinated by an invisible, but clearly enthralling, thing that is the opposite direction of their face.

This particular incident was part of that 10%, because my laughter did not satisfy the man. So I had to ask for clarification twice, but thankfully there were no R's in the sentences I used to say, "Sorry, I couldn't hear you." So he didn't know I didn't speak French natively!! I was winning!! Eventually I got that he'd said, "You have beautiful eyes." "Thank you," I said, as quietly as possible, because that DOES have an R in it. "You don't have to thank me, it's just a fact," the man said creepily. I giggled idiotically some more to avoid having to respond.

The man finished paying for his Red Bull and said, "Au revoir!" "Auvoir," I mumbled rapidly. The man looked surprised and laughed. "Ohvwah!" he mimicked my accent, "I like it. What country are you from?" "The United States," I said, as though admitting I was a Nazi in a past life. Admittance of American nationality is in and of itself is grounds for lifelong hatred, you know. I ended up having to repeat it several times until I was shouting, "ETATS-UNIS!!!" at alarming volume. "But I'm not American!" I joked in French, attempting to redeem myself.

Things get hazy here because I'm not exactly sure what happened. I think the cash register thought this was funny and started going along with my joke, saying, "It's not like that! Haha." The man was laughing too. But really I don't know if they were laughing AT me or WITH me, so I said, "You French, you're all mean," hoping this would either A. Make me look cool for understanding I was being mocked, or B. Sound like a joke because I understood they were joking with me.

I haven't the slightest idea whether I in any way succeeded, but I walked home feeling like a complete idiot and my cheese tasted like garlic and failure.

And this, grocery store, is why I hate you. Please find a new way to provide me with diet Coke and glucose.

Thanks,

Lizzy ;)