Hornwatchers.

I mean, think about it. You work at a hardware store and all you see is men looking for drill bits and chainsaws. You work at Hollister and you see 15-year old girls looking for XXXSmalls. But when you work at the grocery store—you see everybody. Not everyone needs hardware or teenie bopper garb, but everybody needs food.

What does this mean? The grocery store is prime people-watching ground.

I’ll admit, I’m a people-watcher. I don’t watch people to make fun of them, but to guess what their lives are like outside of the place I’m seeing them, or what they’ve been doing all day. At the grocery store, I can gather both of these things AND what they’re going to be eating for dinner. It’s a phenomenon. 

I haven’t yet calculated the exact demographics of the grocery store, but I do know there are a staggering amount of elderly folk, most in brightly-patterned polyester and head scarves. A lot of these people only come out of their homes several times a year: six times to grocery shop, and once on Christmas Eve. Some of the elders examine the meat, poking at the fat and hand-weighing it. Some check for harmful ingredients in the frozen vegetable medley. Others stroll around on electro-scooters and nearly collide with anything in their path (which today, was me). The grocery store is an interesting…dangerous place.

Then there are people like my sister who could care less about anything that costs more than a dime, and head straight for the free samples. Near the bakery there’s a generous tray of semi-soft cookies and/or sugar-coated donuts. I’m not one for donuts (too healthy for me), but my sister usually takes a few and shoves a couple more into her pockets. She would. She so would.

The donut corner is popular with the husbands, by and large the older gentleman that Edith or Thelma pried from their recliner parked in front of the TV. These men are grumpy, and with reason. I mean, I would be royally irked if my spouse ripped me away from 60 Minutes to buy a block of cheese and a couple cans of beans. I feel their pain.

By far the best sight I’ve ever seen at the donut corner occurred several months ago. Two gentlemen, golden-aged and spry, strolled through the store. It appeared as if their wives were out of town (or otherwise), and they could buy whatever. Whatever. Whatever they wanted.

Buying whatever you want at the grocery store is exciting for two groups: The very young, and the very old. Young people, when given sway over the grocery selection, will spring for sugary cereals, fatty pizzas, and high fructose corn syrup-coated high fructose corn syrup. Does it have sugar in it? Yes? In the cart. Now.

(Note: College students do not get excited about buying whatever groceries they want because this is all they get to eat…ever.)

Old people are the same way, and these men were no exception. Clearly fed up with Dorothy and Judith’s cabbage soup and meat pie, they breezed over to donut corner and, much like my sister, grabbed a dozen. Then they perused the pastries for a while, and from the glorious self-serve case, each selected a donut of their liking. They disappeared from my view for a while, and when I ran into one standing behind me in the checkout line, it was clear what his diet would be for the next couple of days (or forever): powdered sugar donuts and chocolate milk.

I would go to the grocery store every day to watch people, if I had enough pluck to do so. Unfortunately the designated and self-proclaimed “people-watching bench” near the entrance/exit is more often than not crowded with husbands that opted not to go to donut corner…

…and instead watch me load my cart with beans and cheese, sugary cereals and high fructose corn syrup. Because hey, if you can’t beat them…watch them.

Love.