Assignment 10-Eliot Smith

     The red awning that hovers over the entrance to the Kroger on Romany is in my sight at least once a week.  Today, I have come for the regular grocery trip with my mother.  I take a quick glance at my list to remind myself what I need; the words lunch meat, corn, and fruit are sloppily scribbled in red ink.  Easy enough.
     As I pass through the familiar automatic door, I am greeted by the usual rush of cool air and the crisp smell of overly-fertilized produce.  Nothing here is new to me.  The same employee as always is manning the lottery station.  He takes a good ten seconds to look around to ensure that no one sees him quickly insert his finger into his nostril to erase that pesky dangler from it's cavity and quickly wipe it on the desk labeled "POWERBALL."  Yes, that's what the mysterious green thing on your lottery ticket is.
     I am greeted by the same cashier that always greets me this time of night.  He utters, "Hiii, welcome to Krogerrr," in a high-pitched southern accent that causes him to hold the pronunciation of his words to a duration where it starts to become weird.  I've wondered if he was gay since my early years...I think he is.
     After the tired and likely high butcher slaps a half-pound of roast beef on the scale and groans the price, I walk to the produce section.  The bundles of fruit and vegetables are displayed in straw baskets to emulate a farmers market, although the stench of pesticides emanating from the orange in my hand quickly puts the visage to rest.
     I locate the basket of corn and start peeling back the husk to check for a healthy stalk.  My inspection is rudely interrupted by the advertisement rising from the bundle: a woman staring into my soul, bearing a freaky smile and awkwardly holding corn on the cob.  The advertisement quickly reminds me of my hate for Kroger's marketing.  The commercials almost always feature the common housewife biting into the meal they've prepared for their family and just maintaining this stupidly fake smile as they check for the approval of their husband and kids.  As a teen who subscribes more to the realist perspective of life, these ads infuriate me way more than they should.  The superficiality of the whole scenario is just mind-boggling to me, and the designer of the commercial, the one who thought that woman eating a plant that she threw into a pot of water would inspire a grin paralleled only by the news of their children getting into Harvard, needed to be fired.
     My angered state was negated when I returned to my basket to find that my mom had placed a box of chicken stock in the basket that read "Free Range Chicken Stock."  My mind conjured the image of bowls of chicken stock running in an open field--I grinned, and was no longer distressed.
     We finally make our way to the check out line.  Our items slide across the conveyor belt to be met by the very unhurried woman cashier who at the end of the process murmurs, "Dyoo have your krogrpluscard."  My mom retrieves her worn-out plastic card, swipes it through the machine, and we start on our way out the door.  I hear the usual "Goooodnighhtt" and turn around to see the male cashier bid us farewell.  I think he winked at me.  Yeah, definitely, I thought, as I confirmed my suspicion.