Farewell, my Albertsons

I was 100% clueless when I whipped in to get tomato sauce and that magic dishwasher additive for removing film and spots. My sorry old Albertsons was already at 15-30% off in the Inventory Blow-Out Sale as it prepares to close.

The old, old, very wrinkly and possibly wise check-out lady with the twinkly eyes told me the store was over forty years old, a dinosaur in Plano's time scale. Through grocery wars, take-overs, and consolidations the store has survived, but always as a fairy godmotherless stepchild.

When I dropped a gallon in the sloped parking lot one night, it slid and tumbled, cracked open and left a Milky Way trail down to Custer (the street, not the general). Stranded in that parking lot, I've waited for Mr. Rescue to jump-start my pumpkin coach. I once backed out of my parking spot and collided with a woman backing out of her parking spot across the way, an unpleasant, but no-fault, chapter.

In my fifteen minutes of fame, I even wrote an op-ed about using the self-check at Albertsons for the Dallas Morning News. The self-check fad waned and disappeared at the store. My volunteer op-ed gig waned faster.

There were moments of conflict in the saga when gift cards were improperly validated. .. Lightbulb inspirations for art classes with autumn vegetables, office supplies, or packaging materials. .. Bitter fights with recalcitrant shopping carts. .. Humiliating moments when checks bounced during the divorce. .. Cosmic instants of enlightenment understanding the true equality of all humans. .. and hubris about my holier-than-thou plastic bag recycling.

Would this dilapidated store on the way home from work have the same significance for me if I had not written about it so many times?

© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder

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