I HATE the supermarket. I always leave looking like a mouse in an electric maze. I'm a picky shopper-- I like to compare prices and nutrition labels and look for American made products and the products made closest to where I'm at. It is hard to concentrate with all the noise, worrying about annoying other shoppers, not to mention trying to keep a handle on my bratty 3-year-old.
ALL clothing, toys, books, and household items (furniture and stuff) I either ask other people to buy or get from yard sales, thrift stores, and/or the side of the road. If I can't find them there, I order them online.
I pay 30 to 50 percent more to get tools and hardware from the local hardware store because Lowes and Home Depot make me want to scream. Besides that, the folks at the local hardware store NEVER say things like, "You mean a hacksaw, sweetheart?" when I ask them where I can find replacement blades for my bowsaw. I NEVER get the tits-in-the-shop routine from them. They also sell things like lumber that is true to dimension-- a 1x2 that is actually 1 inch thick and 2 inches wide. If I don't know what something is called but can describe what it looks like or what it does, they will help me find it and tell me the name. Half the time, the people at Lowes don't even know what I'm talking about (sometimes even when I do know the technical terms).
I buy milk, eggs, milk products, and some beef and pork from a local dairy. It's 10 to 20 percent more expensive, but it's fresher (there is a visible difference), sometimes I get damaged product for free or at cost, and I don't have to go to the damn supermarket every week. I do a lot of the supermarket shopping I have to do at Save-A-Lot, even though I hate their labor practices, because it's a tiny little store with six wide aisles, thirty parking spaces, and usually not more than 15 or 20 people in the store at a time.
In season, I buy fruit and vegetables from the local farm markets and peoples' front yard produce stands. If I'm careful, I can go from May to October without having to go to the supermarket.
When I do have to go, lately, I've been trying to hit WalMart very late at night, after the kids and DH are in bed. I get there around midnight and leave around 3 AM. I can go alone and there are not a lot of other shoppers. Mostly just me and the night stockers. They do not like me being there-- they mostly think I'm just getting in the way-- but at least I don't leave shaking and cross-eyed feeling like all my hair is standing on end.
The other annoyance is impulse shopping. I do pretty good for the first half of the trip-- then I start having a hard time deciding whether I really need something or not, whether I'm just grabbing stuff or if it really is something we're almost out of that I forgot to put on the list.
I try to buy in huge bulk-- my last trip included 50 cans of soup, 60 lbs of flour, three bottles of laundry detergent, 144 servings of chocolate milk mix, 10 boxes of Cheerios, a case of toilet paper, 100 pounds of cat litter, 50 pounds of cat food, 25 pounds of dog food, 30 pounds of rice, 25 pounds of sugar, 3 pounds of coffee, a pint of vanillla, and a 30 pound brisket that I turned into six roasts and ten pints of stew meat, four sets of headlights, 5 gallons of washer fluid, wipers for both cars-- and go only once every couple of months through the off season. I spend $300 to $400 at a trip-- but $400 every two months is really not any different from $100 every week or two.
I have a lot of foods that I like to buy in bulk from the local hippie co-op. When I go, I spend two or three hundred dollars-- mostly on things like 20 pounds of hulled barley, 20 pounds of plain couscous, 20 pounds of quinoa-- and then I don't have to go back for six months. I hate the co-op most of all, because I have to drive through the city, go in the daytime, take the kids, and frankly I don't know about back in the '60's, but in 2013, progressive hippie liberals seem to be some of the foulest, nastiest, most judgmental people on Earth.
I'm learning to grocery shop online, too.
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"