Major chain store grocery shopping excursion in Brooklyn

Ever wonder what it's like to buy groceries in one of the busier hubs in one of the busiest cities in the world? Last Friday I got my chance and let me tell you... I haven't had that much fun since reading The Great Gatsby in 11th grade! Apparently I wasn't too interested in that book - I didn't read a single page of it. That and a few other assignments I neglected ultimately led me to having to retake 11th grade Engrish in summer school with a teacher who would make little movements with her mouth while you'd talk to her.. sort of like she was secretly trying to lip sync to your talking. Good times.

Back to the shopping trip: I needed some canned goods and produce the other day with which to make chili, salsa, and bean soup (we're very regular around here if you know what I'm sayin'). I could have very easily strolled two blocks down to Key Foods, but they're better for smaller/last minute trips being that everything costs a bit more and the selection isn't as vast.

There's this little place called Pathmark down at Atlantic Center which I figured I'd walk down to, explore, and buy all of the items needed to make the aforementioned entrees. From the outside to a Pathmark virgin such as myself I first thought it was a massive dollar store, but once I walked in for the first time when we first got to NY I realized that I'd entered another dimension... The Pathmark Zone. (insert Twilight Zone theme here) This particular location is a quick 15 minute walk from us and conveniently next to the Target we frequent. I figured I might as well jump in and see what it's all about. Here's a street view of the area courtesy of Google maps:



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Pathmark is to the left. If you click your mouse and drag around to the right and look up, there's Target. We all on the same page now? Good.

That photo doesn't accurately represent the day to day hustle and bustle at this intersection - it's smack dab in the middle of 6 subway lines and 2 bus routes which makes it a bit of a clusterfuck to walk through at times, but everyone is generally nice in a "We're all in this together" kind of way which is cool. You have to go there in the mindset that yeah, it's going to be busy and suck.. that's just part of the "charm" of living in the big city.

It was raining out and I had nothing to lose but calories, money, and time. I put on my boots and made the 15 minute walk to Pathmark with Bryn's gramma's trusty grocery cart in hand. It was pretty weird walking into a new grocery store in a new state for the first time. Everything is the same but different. The produce department is like the size of a small football field - and although 90% of it is in horseshit condition and inedible, I realized that if I did some digging that I pretty much found everything I needed - except for jalapeno and Anaheim peppers which seem to be a rarity in this area.

And then there's the aisles: hardly anything on the shelves is in the right place. The general area is right but as far as things like cans matching up with shelf labels? Fegeddabaddit. The neighboring Target store is the exact same way every time we go; if you were to walk in there on any given day and pick 10 random items off of the shelves, I'll bet you 8 of them would differ from the shelf label area they were stocked over. It's really quite impressive! I imagine the job interview process for stock people at these places is something like this:

Pathmark: "Can you take things out of boxes and put them on shelves?"
Interviewee: "Yep."
Pathmark: "True or false: Canned tomatoes go in the canned vegetables aisle."
Interviewee: "Umm... purple?"
Pathmark: "When can you start?"

After about an hour of aimlessly wandering around and exploring all of the glory Pathmark had to offer, I had all of my items in the basket and was ready to pay. Now here's where it gets painful: Every time we've walked by this store and I've peeked in I'd see about 40 checkout aisles all so crammed full that the lines actually curl around into the shopping aisles. I used to think it was just coincidentally busy whenever I'd look in but I'm pretty sure now that it's always that way. There are no short lines or better lines than other ones - they all suck. You just have to find one and start standing. Which I did.

Thank goodness for my iPod, that's alls I have to say. While standing in line I listened to 27 minutes of a Podcast, called Bryn, and read some of People Magazine's special 1970s flashback issue. They lost major points with me for not mentioning KISS in the music section. They mentioned Elton John and The Eagles as if they were the Beatles of the 1970s but nothing about KISS. Don't get me wrong, I love Elton and The Eagles, but no KISS? What's wrong with the people at People?

I was almost at the finish line. The man ahead of me had one of those 24 roll packs of toilet paper. You know how at Target they'll put those plastic tape handles on for you sometimes? Not at Pathmark. I kid you not - I watched the cashier casually tie five plastic bags together to form a belt which she wrapped around the cumbersome package of asswipe while myself and a dozen other people behind me waited. It was like watching MacGyver in ultra-slow motion. That's treading a rather thin line between exceptional customer service and Beeitch.. what the feck you doin'? He bought it, let him figure out how to carry it home.

My turn finally came and I was fearing what the total was going to be for my pile of stuff. I kept thinking Aw man... this would cost me around $30 in MN and I'll bet it will be $50 here. Surprisingly it all came to $34. What you don't pay in money you certainly pay for with time, but thankfully I've got time right now (thank you, savings account). I loaded up the grocery getter cart and pushed that sucker home in the rain, proud that I'd survived my first big trip to Pathmark. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the grocery shopping life at a major chain store in Brooklyn.

It's really not that bad as long as you're in the right mindset and have tunes to listen to. There's another Pathmark the same distance from us as the Atlantic Center one which we briefly ventured into last week. It doesn't seem nearly as crowded there, so I think we'll hit that one next time and up until we become members of the Park Slope food co-op a few blocks from our place. Everything at the co-op is a bit cheaper, far superior in quality from anything else I've seen around here, and although it gets crowded in there too it's not nearly as draining as Pathmark. There's a one month waiting list to get into the co-op and we have 28 days to go before we're in. That's going to be awesome. I'm sure I'll miss Pathmark when that time comes.

Out East and Up, Unloaded and Walkin' (Part II of 2)

Yesterday we hit the one week mark since our now legendary cross country move occurred. We attended a quaint, loverly BBQ at our friends-of-a-friend-and-now-our-friends-too's place. It's nice to know that yards do exist within the city, and nice ones at that. In order to get into their backyard you have to walk down through the basement then up and out through a stairway where if you don't remember to duck it's highly probable that you'll conk your melon on the top of the doorway. That's what I love about New Yolk; everything is compact in its own unique way... even access to the backyard. I'm sure there are traditional backyard portals here where one can remain outside on ground level and walk from the front of the property around the perimeter of the house to the back, but what fun is that? Kudos to J&I for having a cool yard which can only be accessed via the elusive cellar door. Defenestration via their kitchen window would likely get you there as well unless a strong wind was present and knocked you into their driveway on the way down.

(Well gawd damn, look at that. My Aunt Cookie taught me the word "defenestration" some 25 years ago and I just used it practically for the very first time in this here journal entry. Until now I've just casually brought it up as cool word trivia in the company of strangers in lieu of talking about the weather, but now that word's time in the spotlight has come. Thanks, Cookie!)

I digress. Back to one week ago: We arrived at our new home in the moving truck, parked it, and barreled across the street to the Realtor office to obtain our keys. As we unlocked and entered the main entry door to the building we live in, we realized that the stairway we remembered as being only 8-10 steps to our apartment door was actually more like 20 steps. Thank GAWD we'd hired movers just days prior. We were on borrowed time with the rental truck as well as mental/physical energy. Hauling 800 cubic feet worth of boxes up those "bonus stairs" we somehow didn't remember after being on the road for so long would not have been pretty at this juncture. Let me just say that those movers were by far the best $130 I’d spent since that hooker in front of the Popeye’s Chicken on Fulton Street (sorry, I’m saving that story for the grand kids).

The movers were due to show up in an hour so we decided to get some of the more fragile items up and out prior to their arrival – cats, guitars, picture frames, and our massive glass sofa... okay, I made that last one up but you’ve got to admit that would be pretty cool, especially if it had some sort of built in neon green lava lamp effect.

At any rate we climbed the Stairway to Heaven and unlocked our apartment door for the very first time. It turned out that just like the stairway, the version of the apartment in our memories differed a bit from the real thing, mainly due to the fact that it was a tad bit less spacious than we remembered. The bathroom, for example: it does not allow one to comfortably sit on the john and read unless you sit at an 8 o’clock position on the seat. Evidently this is a rather common NY apartment idiosyncrasy. I’ve managed to sit on it in the traditional 6 o’clock position a few times, but only after some ample stretching and careful planning in regard to which leg goes where and when whilst mounting ass upon seat. We are quickly learning that walls aren’t just for hanging pictures on anymore… in a small apartment they seem to double as flat closets; same goes for the ceiling. I'm finding myself looking at things like a blender and thinking Hm.. with a couple of S-shaped hooks I’ll bet I could hang that sucker from the ceiling… and probably fit a frying pan, my Etch-A-Sketch and that rolling pin in there somewhere as well. Alas, it’s our apartment, and although it’s a little bit smaller than we remembered it’s awesome and we absolutely love it as well as the city which surrounds it.

After the movers came and lugged our stuff up for us the place was wall to wall cardboard boxes with a narrow path to get from the front door to the bathroom and through to the bedroom. It was time to celebrate our official move-innance with a beverage. I cracked open a beer, Bryn made a cocktail, and we sat on the half of the couch that wasn't blocked by boxes to bask in the glory of what we'd just accomplished over the past three weeks. There we were, home at last.

Our lips didn't even make contact with the delicious celebratory beverages. 20 minutes later we both woke up still sitting upright with our drinks somehow still in our hands and filled to the rim, the glasses just as sweaty as we were when we sat down with them. Unfortunately the box spring and mattress were tilted up against the wall because the floorspace needed to lay them down was occupied by a graveyard of boxes. I remember thinking Awww HELLL maaaaaaaaan, I juss wanna duct tape maahself sideways onto that muh-fuggin bed and sleep for two days! Not an option.

We somehow stayed up a few more hours to dig out the basics we needed to get through the night and went out for our first meal at a fine Italian dining establishment two blocks down from our door. The meal consisted of spaghetti and meatballs accompanied by a glass of wine with which to wash said bawls and pasta down. I was quite fried by that time, but I recall it being rather delicious. Although I really don't remember much aside from the "OHMYGAWD WE LIVE HERE NOW!!" euphoria, I have a barely noticeable dime sized oil stain on my green pants from a piece of meatball that fell on my lap. I don't see that stain as a bad thing, it's more like a clothing tattoo. Every time I see that stain I'll remember what it took to get to that stain.

Now it's just a little over one week later and it's finally starting to look like an apartment when we walk in rather than a gigantic cardboard origami orgy gone wrong. We still have a ways to go with unpacking but honestly I don't give a rat's arse anymore. We're Home and it fucking ROCKS here.

East Bound and Down, Loaded up and Truckin' (Part I)

Pardon my language, but Holy excrement. What a month August was.

From nyc move

On Friday night Iced Ink played our farewell show at Big V’s and I can’t thank everyone enough for coming out and representin’. If you ever have to move across the country and want to play a bye-bye show with your band, be sure it’s not the night before you leave town. Bryn and I were so fried by the time we got to V’s that it's not even funny. But it was a total blast to see all of our friends and family show up and an honor to take the stage one last time with two of the most goodest and bestest musicians I’ve ever had the fortune to play with – Berkman and Barry. There is now a giant void in the cockles of my heart without you guys. When I did things like try to cram the “Sweet Child O Mine” riff over “Steve Buscemi Overture”, you guys always hung in there and kept the train rolling as I laughed at myself. No one else that reads this will get the sheer ridiculousness of that, but I don’t care. That’s just how good you guys are and it sucks that I couldn’t take you both with me. There’s some pretty big shoes to fill out here in NY in that regard.

From nyc move

The gig ended, we left around 2:30am and took a wee 6 hour nap at our homeboy Eric’s place. Woke up, left Minneapolis at around 10:30am on Saturday morning, and drove a nice brisk 26 hours straight through to Brooklyn with no naps whatsoever, something that I'm sure I'll one day refer to as "the dumbest fucking thing ever I did when I was younger... I coulda swerved off da road and killed us all!" The only stops made were one in Bryn’s hometown Wautoma to drop some stuff off in storage and shower at her parents, and then approx. 5 stops to fill the 16’ moving truck with gas and go potty. We were a little concerned with how the cats were going to behave in the cab of the truck for a day and some change, but it turns out that they’re natural travelers. They did the whole drive with minimal whining or fuss. Damn!

From nyc move

Things got rather interesting in Pennsylvania. Driving euphoria started sinking in due to the sheer exhaustion – plus there was a lot of fog in some of the lower altitude regions... at times I was wondering if we’d crashed and were driving through the pearly gates. Whenever it got to be too much I’d stop for a Red Bull. I don’t know what they put in that stuff… I know there’s an old rumor that it’s bull piss or semen something of that nature. Even if that’s the case, I tip my hat to all of you bulls out there. Next time I have to make any sort of drive like that, which hopefully won’t be for a very, very long time, I will have a stockpile of Red Bull in tow. Pennsylvania is a beautiful drive, however. Mountainous and picturesque, and quite spectacular when you’re fortunate enough to catch the sunrise on the road.

At about 11am on Sunday, along came the Garden State. The first thing I thought of when crossing that border was Huh.. so this is where Springsteen and Bon Jovi come from? There sure are a lot of trees. Traffic got progressively more congested and the highways more littered, when finally we found ourselves at the clusterfuck that is the Holland Tunnel which shoots you straight under the Hudson River and into Manhattan. We sat in line for a good 20 minutes as I pissed my pants hoping that no one would crash into the moving truck in such close quarters. We arrived at the toll booth with cash in hand, excited to cross the border and get to our new place. And the lady in the booth kindly said this:

From nyc move

“You gonna have to take the Lincoln Tunnel. Commercial vehicle.” She let us through, a cop directed us to a quick left turn which routed us back towards the Lincoln Tunnel… and another 20 minute wait. At this time I was starting to notice the gas gauge needle slowly creeping towards E. How awesome would that be to run out of gas in this fine little mess? We turned around, sat in line, zipped through the incredibly narrow Lincoln Tunnel, and POOF. There we were in Manhattan. I felt like Clark Grizwald making it to Wally World. If you ever want to experience the most intense rush ever, don’t sleep for over a day and try aimlessly driving a 16’ moving truck full of your most prized belongings through Manhattan. THAT was a trip. Between the GPS, Bryn peeping a map, and my hella madd defensive driving skiznills, we somehow made it through the city in one piece and crossed the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn. One straight shot down Flatbush and I heard the GPS robot lady voice say the most beautiful words ever: “Take a right on 7th, and after one quarter mile you have reached your destination.” Had I not been so focused on driving and not crashing the truck I would have made out with the GPS right then and there.

The next impediment to overcome was to somehow find a parking spot for the moving truck that wasn't 3 blocks away from our front door. Let me tell you... the fun never ends when moving to a big city. Thankfully there was already a moving truck hogging up space practically right smack dab in the front of our place, so Bryn hopped out and asked the driver if we could cram our truck in behind his to unpack while I anxiously circled the block. He was cool with that, I parked the truck, and there we were in Brooklyn ready to start a new chapter in life. We walked across the street to the Realtor to get the keys to our new apartment.

Now all we had to do was unpack the moving truck... and then find a place to put it until the next morning when we could return it.

Coming soon: The exciting conclusion, tentatively titled Holy Shit, our apartment is crammed full of boxes wall-to-wall... we do have a floor, right?

From nyc move