Given that my car and left arm are both, as the kids say, “fucked” I was finally forced to sell out at do my shopping online. And despite the bounty of free shit they gave me for signing up (mousepad? Haven’t used one of them for years) I wasn’t impressed by the whole experience. Picking products off a list is absolutely impossible - especially if you’re like me and do your supermercado shopping by walking in, taking a basket and just wandering the aisles throwing in anything that looks good. I eventually got it right despite having no idea what the hell I was buying and they tell me “pick a two hour block where you’ll be home”. Fair enough but happens if you suddenly have to go out, or you can’t get home in time? Do they show up the next day, dump some off milk that’s been sitting in their truck on your doorstep and still demand payment?
The delivery guy takes all the stuff upstairs for me - which was nice even if it did make me feel like a cripple at the ripe old age of 23 but when he gets to my door he declares “I can bring it to here but we’re not allowed to come inside!” It was such a drastic declaration that it made me think that some seriously weird shit has gone on with their staff. Then I discovered all my shopping in individual bags with my name on them. Weird. And a box of free stuff. Ace! Sadly it’s all sorts of weird ass Soy Milk and conditioner that I’ve got no use for - but the mousepad and pen are nice.
A revolutionary advance in the grocery shopping process? Potentially. But far too bizarre for me. When I’m really old and crusty (30? Debate that!) I’ll probably get back into it.
What a fascinating insight into my domestic life. Look for my new Collette Mann style column in New Idea.
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