All of us at some point partake in activities that are inherently dangerous. Sometimes, it’s by choice: rock climbing, skydiving, etc. Sometimes, it isn’t: going into surgery, rushing into a burning building to save a loved one. And sometimes, what seems innocent at first, devolves into something so deadly, so dangerous, that one has to fight for their life.
That’s right, I’m talking about that free-for-all melee known as a Supermarket. That theater, by itself, is the longest running civil war known to mankind. Yet people freely participate in it.
We all know the drill: You select a relatively light armored carrier (a.k.a. the “shopping cart”) for your foray into the Combat Zone. With your personal orders and list of objectives (the “shopping list”), you know that once you get inside, you’re on your own. And, the laws of warfare don’t apply—the Geneva Convention doesn’t exist.
You begin at home, receiving your orders and arming yourself with either a checkbook, debit/credit card, or cash. Transportation to the theater is arranged, and after being dropped into your LZ with your small personal vehicle, you survey the scene. The enemy is all around you: old blue-haired ladies who are obstacles in the aisles; entire platoons of families that congregate around the one shopping cart, searching every nook and cranny for you, as they lift and inspect every item on the shelf; the harsh conditions of the freezer aisle, testing your physical constitution; wandering bands of non-combatant children playing in the toy aisle, who will spot you and identify you; the booby-trapped displays in the cereal aisle, luring you to buy with promises of a free toy inside; and even the propaganda blared out over the loudspeakers that tells you that this week’s special is cooked shrimp, and it’s only 99-cents a pound.
The danger presents itself as you pilot your small APC around the obstacles, avoiding enemy patrols of the families, dodging the children, ducking the indirect fire of salespeople with their “pricing guns”. You maneuver yourself from objective to objective—first the eggs, then the stuffing, some frozen chicken, the garlic salt, and next to last, the canned mushrooms. The first five legs being done, you look down an aisle, and see your final objective: the canned chili. As you notice one single can left, you scan the aisle to notice another warrior, eyeing your prize.
Your hair raises on the back of your neck, and you align your APC to make a final ‘trench run’. Your nemesis does the same. He realizes your intent and gives you a wry sneer and a loud snort. You reply in kind. And instantly, you’re off! The two of you screaming down the aisle, launching pull-tab soup can grenades at each other (that’s right Corporal, pull the tab, throw the can!!) An old lady abruptly turns out in front of him, crashing her cart into his. You miss dodging a small child, and crash yours into a display of Chex Mix. Both of you instantly abandon your carts, and armed with coupons, make a mad dash to the chili!
He makes it to the spot first but slips, and slide tackles you. The can is knocked off the shelf, and you are both wrapped up in a hand-to-hand fight for the chili with no beans. He reaches for the can rolling on the floor, but you grab a nearby can of non-stick spray, and coat his non-Teflon ass in buttery, no-stick goodness. With him unable to get up without falling, you dash for the can, grab it like a Monday Night Football fumble, and run for your cart!
You immediately toss the chili into your cart, and make like hell for the extraction point. The only thing that stands between you and death is the double-agent cashier, who can safely guide you to the exit if she doesn’t take to long, or can call the Stormtrooper Manager for a price check . . .
She says the passphrase: “Paper or plastic, Sir?”
And you’re stuck. You weren’t briefed on the password. This egregious Intelligence failure is leaving you high and dry! But you say the hell with it, because you know you’ve got a 50/50 chance.
“Plastic is okay.”
Instantly, the resistance springs to life to ring up your items and bag your groceries. With nary a moment lost, you whip out your debit card, input your pin, and grab the receipt. It’s not far now: just a few meters to the border of the exit and the parking lot. You look back, and you see your enemy glaring at you from afar, stuck in a non-express lane. He knows you’ll be back, and he looks forward to that ultimate battle.
You turn your attention back towards the exit, and make your way across the border. Alas, the Parking Lot! A neutral nation that will not turn you over to either side! As you make your way to your outgoing landing zone (“the parking spot”) you take a moment to reflect on your harrowing escape. And as your eggs and mushrooms are loaded into your transport, you look back and smile. You nearly didn’t make it out, but that’s okay. You’ll be back next week to tempt fate as a Soldier of Fortune and Collector of Coupons.
Tripler
Only the brave and thrifty dare venture into this kind of combat.
