CenComm's tactical plan for deli counter invasion

We were talking this weekend about a local store chain called Central Market. It’s kind of like Whole Foods on steroids. If there’s something culty, foody, hard to find, organic, vegan, trendy, eco-conscious, cruelty-free, free-trade or just plain expensive, Central Market will have it. From fresh figs to fresh tamales, they got it all. With separate meat, fish and sausage counters, bread and pastry bakery and tortilleria, a solid olive and deli bar, a giant whole bean coffee selection, and more wines than some actual beer and wine stores (beer selection is only adequate). And cheeses. Don’t get me started on the cheeses. It’s the kind of place where when you need something specific, you make a surgically precise tactical strike, and you take a small amount of cash and leave your credit cards at home, or you will get in trouble. Where the Whole Paycheck store tends to attract more of your rich hippie clientele, Central Market is more of the straight up yuppie douchebag crowd. And that’s its downfall for me.

Not that I have anything personal against yuppie douchebags. I think it’s a right protected in the Constitution. Not the Bill of Rights, or anything, but back there past the top ten. I just use my right to free association not to have to be around them. Just plain exhausting. First, they flock places. That makes the parking lot hard to negotiate, and good Lord help you if you need a basket in the aisles. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting some hockey mom talking on the phone while she monopolizes the olive oil selection, and her 2.293 kids mill aimlessly around her. Plus, for some reason, yuppie douchebags are just so loud. Any place they congregate is likely to be deafening, what with the cell phone conversations, discussions on whether Moldova is the new Chile, and the soundtrack of Guatemalan whistle bands covering John Mayer songs. And they just stop, open-mouthed and goggle-eyed in high traffic areas for no apparent reason. Or sometimes for apparent reasons, like the fact that the elementary school appears to have PTA meetings in the frozen food aisle.

Thus a second need for those guerilla missions. Say I need prosciutto and fresh purple hull peas. I take exactly one $20 bill in my hand, park as near the check out door as the Mini-Cooper, Prius and Escalade congestion will allow. Then I pass up the shopping carts and even the hand baskets, because it’s just going to way me down. Now comes the possible need for full-contact play. There’s no easy way to negotiate the produce section. It’s kill or be killed. I reach over the pair of Shining twins that are parked in front of the purple hulls (why, I don’t know – kids don’t like beans, shouldn’t they be over in front of the Haribo gummy bears?), and grab the first bag I can get my hands on. Then I backtrack through produce (getting caught in the meat section is a huge tactical error), and go through the little secret passage that dumps you into canned vegetables (yes, they’re snooty, but even snooty people eat canned food sometimes) and then cut past the frozen food (bypassing the PTA meeting, bakery and the dairy section in one swoop), fly through the flowers and emerge at the back of the deli. Then I hold my hands over my eyes as I pass the olive bar (danger! danger! danger! you only have $20), grab my prosciutto, and zip back to the front and get in the express checkout. Never, never, never buy more than 15 items. You’ll have to take granola bars and a canteen to make it through that checkout line. And of course, a pair of elbow pads and some noise cancelling headphones are good tack to take along. Unless you like bruised elbows and listening to Your Body is a Wonderland played on the pan flute.