I hate grocery shopping.

Knowing I need to go grocery shopping the next day leaves me with a heavy sense of tension and doom in the pit of my stomach, like a man waiting to die. It ruins any enjoyment I could hope to find in the evening before, the ever-present knowledge of my duties the next morning gnawing at the back of my skull like a parasite, slowly working its way into the soft flesh of my brain.

Trying to sleep is a futile effort, the weight of the trials awaiting me crushing me into the mattress, collapsing in on me and shaping my bedroom into a pit of despair. When I awake the next morning, it is dark. It has to be dark, or else the crowd will be too large to shop. I’ve been telling myself this for years. The crowd has always been too large to shop. But I have to shop anyway.

I fight my way out of my bed and into some clothes, each step a fight against an army of emotions all trying to force me to turn back, telling me how I will fail at my quest. But it's not a choice I can make. I have to go grocery shopping, whether I want to or not. I gather the necessary materials for my mission. The reusable bags are bulky and frustrating to carry, but the charge for the plastic ones is not an option. I remember the last time I bought the plastic bags, the burns from the eyes of the other shoppers still adorn the back of my skull.

As I leave my house, I take one last look inside. I will not see this place with the same eyes as I have now. Every trip breaks me a little more, shapes me into a different person. I no longer feel like I know who I am because of this. I close the door and approach my car. Getting into my car is like being escorted down death row, only without the sweet release of death awaiting me at the end. The drive to the grocery store is laced with the slight sign of the sun cresting the horizon. This is not comforting, for it means I slept too late. The crowd will be larger than I planned for. This leaves the car ride to the store drenched in anxiety.

As I pull up to the store, I see that the parking lot is nearly full. Long ago, I stopped trying to find a spot close to the door. There’s never a spot close to the door, it's simply a never ending maze, constantly winding around the aisles looking for a spot. Better to consign myself to one more walk to my inevitable peril. As I approach the store, the sun slowly crests over the edge of the building. I try to block the glare with my hand, but it is futile, a fitting addition to my day. The crowd of people in the lot grows as I approach the door. They too bear the burden of having to grocery shop, and I know that they too dread this day. We do our best to avoid each other's gaze, but whenever it meets, we see the sheer exhaustion in each other’s eyes. There is no comfort in strangers here.

Stepping into the doorway of the store, I am blinded by the fluorescent lights. They say you should get used to them with time, but that never comes. The light and opening doors could make one think they are walking through the gates of heaven. But this is not heaven. It is hell. A hell constructed to be as sickly-sweet as possible. As I enter, the store’s greeter welcomes me with a smile. Behind the smile I see the face of a man who begs for death. I return his smile with a wave, behind my wave I apologize for being unable to grant his wish.

Throughout the store, the lights beat down on me like a thousand suns, as music played from the intercom speakers pound my ears like the call of buzzards. The store tries to disguise their menace by using popular music. They do not realize this is what creates the menace. As I make my way through the store, I watch the other customers. I fear any I recognize, knowing they will try to escape their torment by speaking to me. I cannot afford to be dragged down into their hell, forced to discuss the inanities of life. I have a duty to purchase groceries.

Most items on my list are found without issue. I am grateful, for this is the only relief I will find today. I treasure it like water in the desert. However, some items are not easy to find. I ask an employee to help me find a product. The look on his face is as though I have murdered his child, but he is forced to share a car ride with me. He points me to my item, and wishes me a nice day. I apologize for being a bother, and for a brief moment, his look melts away. Instead of hating me, it begs me to help him, free him from his chains. I cannot. I have to finish grocery shopping.

I look down at my list, and I see that once again I have left the worst task for last. The deli section. As I approach the deli section, I can hear the sounds of meat slicers and ovens roasting chicken. For a brief moment, I envy the meat. Stepping to the counter, there is one other customer before me. She speaks to the young man at the counter with a voice so shrill it sends even my own dread into hiding. She is demanding free products. She is always demanding free products. Different bodies, different stores, she is there. When she does not get the free products, she leaves. The stomps of her feet nearly shatter the ground as she departs. Once again, I envy the meat on the slicer.

I look at the young man running the deli counter. I realize his youthful look is a pure illusion, he bears the age and suffering of someone a decade his elder. I know that it is not my place to envy the meat anymore, for he has done so every single day of his life at this job. He smiles at me, and asks what I require. I apologize for forcing yet more work onto this aged youth, and make my order. He is grateful for my compassion, and brings me my request in very little time. It is a moment I will cherish, for it will get me through harder times ahead.

Now, I must pay for my groceries. My body tries to reject this, my heart attempting to leap from my chest as my forehead tries to drown me in sweat. I carry on, for I have a duty to purchase groceries. Standing in line at the cashier’s station is waiting for the executioner. No one talks, for we all know we must save our strength. The faint burning whistle of the fluorescent lights is far more noticeable now. It drills its way into my ears, boring through my very heart and soul. I step forward through the line regardless.

As I reach the cashier, she scans my items. When one does not scan and she is forced to manually enter the barcode, I fight back a beast that nearly takes control of me. The beast desires to joke about free products. But free products are no joke, and I know this woman would wish death upon me for mentioning it. I do not want to anger her, for my fate is in her hands now. As she finishes totaling up my purchase, she reads me the price. I do not hear her. I ask her to repeat. She reads me the price. I do not hear her. I ask her to repeat. She reads me the price. I do not hear her. I cannot ask her to repeat a third time, for she will not understand why I did not hear her. Instead, I simply hand her my credit card. The credit card is only for emergencies. I feel this constitutes one.

The card is accepted, I have paid, and the woman urges me away. I collect my products, and I step for the door. Before I reach the sweet escape of the door, I am stopped. The greeter wishes to see my receipt. I know this is punishment for being unable to grant him the escape he desires. I resign myself to this fate, allowing him to verify my purchase. He is merciful, and lets me depart. I thank him for his grace, and exit the door. As the doors part, the light of the morning sun assaults my eyes. I do not find the relief I had hoped for. Instead, it is a reminder of the time I will never receive. Time lost to the duty that is grocery shopping.

I return to my vehicle, placing my purchases into it. It is a puzzle of its own, one designed to torment and harass me one last time before I return home. I think I have done a good job at solving this puzzle, but accept that I will likely arrive home to crushed bread. I deserve crushed bread. The ride home is uneventful, and the rest of my morning is spent placing my purchased groceries in their proper place. My evening is spent erasing this day from my mind, leaving it fresh to be destroyed by this process again in two weeks time.

I hate grocery shopping.