Kitchen Sink Damas Part 1

Sometimes when I am in the grocery store I get vertigo.
No I don't have a balance disorder nor do I have labyrinthitis.
But sometimes the floor turns into warm taffy and tilts sideways. Things change colour and it feels like the shevles are closing in on me. I am sure I will be cut in half by the steel monoliths covered in granola bar boxes and powdered milk. Who buys powdered milk anyways?

My steps seem huge and over exaggerated. I clench my hands around the poled handle of my grocery cart, the one with the waggity wheel. I do feel like a zombie on most shopping experiences - that is unless I am on a motivational surge of premeditated consumeristic lust. You know the kind. Your head starts to go all buzzy and that selfish throb of power emanates from deep inside you. We all get off on the purchasing, even if we won't admit it.

The grocery store is not really that kind of place for me. I spend most of my time looking in other people's cart and wondering what they are going to make with that or how they could eat the shit they are buying. Or watching the fish swim around oblivious to their own doom. Wow potato chips are on sale for three bags for five dollars. Pork hocks are a dollar a pound - just what I always wanted, a big old bin of pig feet.

In a way the grocery store is it's own community. It is a holding tank for people in limbo - a form of cell. A place that holds time in contempt and dazzles you with colour.
Personally I don't really understand them. In a way they are like a micro-example of the super mall - I guess that is why some genius coined the phrase supermarket.

My favorite is seeing people fighting with each other and kids begging for shit. The repressed dramas running underneath the Muzak, right beside a three hundred pound case of freshly slaughtered animals.

Maybe it is the graveyard aspect that makes people uneasy and fog-eyed. The hidden noises of bones getting sawed up in the back room. The five hundred dead or sterile egg embryos screaming for their chance in life. Who knows. Who knows, but something just isn't right.