My name's Dave. I'm working on it.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Fuck Safeway

Safeway truly is one of the outposts of hell. You can tell just by looking at it, even from the outside. There is, after all, a giant red 'S' guarding the front gates...
You enter and immediately feel your soul being bombarded by the tacky cardboard displays and condescending banal sales pitches blaring out through the speakers, sandwiched between some of the worst songs you never hoped to hear again. They seem to specialize in mid-90s soft rock, usually Phil Collins or Rick Astley or some other sucker of Satan's cock, as Bill Hicks would say. Really. Can anyone actually stand it? Are Safeway regulars so fucking inundated with noise and ads and shitty music that they don't notice it anymore?
I went in with the simple intention of buying some burn ointment. I was sealing a letter with wax not long before and burnt my finger on the lighter, in my determination not to touch the wax itself. I didn't have anything in my bathroom, of course, so I reluctantly headed out the door and drove off.
I scanned the Pain Relief and First Aid aisles. Row after row of Ibuprofen and Alleve and fuck-all knows what else. Itch relief. Cracked skin relief. Relief for nearly every possible ailment imaginable... except burns. I blinked. I looked again, sure I was missing it. Nothing. I asked for help and the guy started looking feebly through the rows, just as I had, while meekly asking me about the nature of the burn. Was it serious? Did I really need some ointment for it? No, I told him, it's not dire, but it hurts and I would certainly like to put something on it. Oh and did I mention that I don't have to justify to you why I want to put burn cream on, you fucking moron? Do I need to have a third-degree burn before you'll magically produce something from your back pocket? Christ. What are you trying to gauge with these inane questions about the state of my finger? I guess he felt the need to make conversation to stall the inevitable.
He suggested Benadryl in the end, it being useful for burns among other things. I wanted to murder the guy. But I thanked him and turned away any further assistance so he would leave, and then picked up the Benadryl and walked away from the First Aid section.
Goddamnit. I had been in such a good mood earlier.
The soulless, vapid energy of the place was getting to me, so I moved to the aisle with all the cookies and such and looked for something sweet to buy. Nutter Butters perhaps. I scanned the different cookies, their plastic sheen glistening in the fluorescence like tiny idols. Nothing appealed to me enough to actually pick up. But I began fiddling with the Benadryl box. My finger was still red and hurting. I opened it and unscrewed it and put a bit on the burn, which felt nice. I was careful not to crease the tube. I capped it and closed up the box again. I am thankful I didn't have to break any seals to open it. My finger felt a little better, and I walked the Benadryl back to its shelf and put it back with all the other forms of relief. That cheered me up a little.
But I still wanted something for my sweet tooth.
Thankfully, it's the right time of year for this sort of thing. I walked to the end of the store and found some Cadbury eggs, paid for them, and headed out into the night air.
Fuck that place. I'll take Winco anyday. The people who shop there may be terrifying, but at least there's no Michael Bolton playing.


  1. Umm... didn't my horror stories of having worked for the offices of Satan himself ward you offa that place? You're lucky your soul is intact and that all you have is a burned finger!

  2. You make me smile.
    I'll be in Portland the 31st-2nd if you want to get together for something caffeinated.