On Sundays, I go grocery shopping. It’s a dreaded part of my week that I hesitantly grin my way through as I pass through the organic vegetable section and make my way to the Pop Tarts. The wheels on my weathered shopping cart painfully screech past the fresh deli meats and come to an impermanent stop right around the pre-packaged hotdogs and that delicious plastic-looking cheese. Like clockwork, I’m in and out at less than ten minutes, free from suffering through this retail assault for another seven days.
I don’t like shopping and it’s not limited to my domestic necessities. I spent a total of ten minutes shopping for my Old Town Next, my unnecessarily expensive cooler, and my PFD now doubling as a camping pillow. I bought my car after only an hour of browsing internet listings and I buy the same model Sanuks every time the old ones wear thin on the sole.
In a retail culture that is overwhelmed by well-marketed shots at consumer’s self-confidence, I don’t spend much time in retail shops.