I Almost Got Taken Out In the Pickle Aisle

A simple trip to the market turned into a master class in me-first culture.

My physical therapist advised me to carry my cane when I go out in public. Even long past when I need it.

“People are kinder to those who use a cane,” she noted.

She’s right. People hold open doors. They smile. They even let me go first—usually.

Usually…

This theory works just dandy for those walking toward you—or probably even behind you. But if you’re behind someone else, or if you’re at an intersection, like at the market? Then it’s every shopper for themselves.

Take last week at Mollie Stone’s. I was limping my way toward the end of an aisle when I just missed being broadsided by some knucklehead. She was masked up and on a mission. Clearly, she was concerned about health and well-being—namely hers. (Just to be clear—I’m not against masks, I’m against clueless.)

I approached the end of the aisle much the same as I approach a car intersection. Slow down, look left, then right, left again—just in case.

Apparently, not everyone got that memo.

Whose cart comes barreling out of nowhere at NASCAR speed? Ms. “I Don’t Give a Crap About You Cause I Have My COVID Mask On.” Boom! She ripped through the intersection like she owned it.

I missed being clobbered by a hair. On my bad knee side, of course.

As I used the top end of my cane to lasso her to the ground and proceeded to pummel her with the other side while screaming, “You flipping moron, watch where you’re going,” I was applauded by several other shoppers who also witnessed the near mishap.

Nah.

That’s what was going through my mind as I steadied myself from the backdraft of her speeding cart.

After this almost-disaster, I began to pay more attention to those nearby, which is ironic, because apparently no one else was paying attention.

A few aisles over, I witnessed a man back up several paces to contemplate his pickle options. No acknowledgment of what might be behind him, no spatial awareness, just sashaying in full reverse to consider pickeldom.

A couple of kids, heads down on their phones, thumbs flying, walking around a corner, stopping, then turning around to the next aisle—never even looking up. Were they texting each other? Wouldn’t surprise me.

WTF?

No, we don’t need to have turn signals and brake lights attached to our Lululemons. But maybe—just maybe—the fundamental and foundational thought that other people in the world might be a little less mobile would be nice.

The more I thought about it, the more it hit me: this isn’t just a grocery store problem.

I wonder if this lack of spatial awareness is symbolic of the world we now live in. It’s not just clumsy. It’s cultural.

We’ve lost the art of paying attention, and replaced it with the new art of “me-ness.”

Wear a mask? I’m OK, but I couldn’t care less about you.

On your phone? Always. Eyes down, world off.

We’ve perfected the art of tuning out everyone but ourselves.

This same siloed me-ness also bleeds into how we consume media.

We are all being led like lambs to slaughter, not only by the media we consume, but also by how we engage with it. Social, or traditional—it doesn’t matter; the formula is the same.

It doesn’t really matter whether it’s the media or the internet. The media creates the bait; the internet serves it back to us on repeat. One inflames, the other reinforces. The result’s the same: we stay in our silos, marinating in the same takes.

Like the dope who almost nailed me just now, the media barrels ahead—eyes locked on attention, never mind who’s in the way. It serves up whatever tidbits keep you clicking on. More clicks mean more eyeballs, which in turn give their salivating advertisers more reason to sell you more stuff so you can buy the newest gadget. The one that helps you keep ignoring everyone else—especially Y.O.U.

How is this going to get fixed?

Not by the media, for sure.

It’s going to get fixed by you.

Meaning: stop waiting for the adults in the room—they left years ago. The fix isn’t political; it’s personal. Be curious. Read something that pisses you off. Talk to someone who doesn’t nod along. Confuse the damn algorithm.

Break out of your silo and begin to consider that there might be an opinion other than the one you already agree with. Click on something that doesn’t fit the neat little echo chamber that’s been built around you. Not because it’ll change your mind (though it might), but because it’ll remind you that there’s a world outside your feed, your cart, and your self. You might learn something. Or, at the very least, confuse the f&^k out of the algorithm that’s currently spoon-feeding you.

So next time you’re out in public—or online—try looking up. Notice who’s around you. Pay attention to more than your own reflection.

It might just make the world a little less self-absorbed.

And who knows? Someone might even hold open a door.

TL;DR: We’ve perfected the art of tuning each other out, whether in grocery aisles or on our phones.

Liked this rant? Here’s another favorite: Stop the Scroll, Save Your Soul.