Food Shopping

Going to the store to buy food is always an adventure.

But is it a fun adventure?!

NO.

Why?

Let’s take a trip to the local grocery store.

First, there’s the list. Gotta make a list, or nothing’s going nowhere. The process is complicated though, because Momsy likes to please everyone and nobody knows what they want. I’m never hungry, Shannon searches Pinterest for a vague recipe, like Guacamole dip, and Dad wants Beer. Also, Chips. So it’s like this:

After the list is finally made, it’s time to go to the store. I’ll volunteer to go because Momsy’s tired because she sleeps only 3 hours a night. Also, it takes us nearly two hours to make a list. So off I go.

When I first get to the store, I’m optimistic that everything will go my way.

But after just a few moments, my confidence is crushed. Then it is thrown in the garbage.

There was this:

And then, there was this:

With the people noises, the fluorescent lights, the squeaky floors, the colors, the smells, I KNEW I had to stay focused. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t make it out of there alive. The family needed food. It was do or die.

I figured the best way to do this was to pick an item on the list and just focus on that item. Nothing else would matter until that item was in the cart. Yes. This was my strategy.

So I took a gander at the list.

And there it was. PASTA. That’s easy. I got this. I GOT THIS.

As I make my way to the pasta aisle, I see that the choices are enormous. There are different brands, different shapes, different colors; whole wheat, whole grain, whole lotta choices.

But then it hit me. The pasta aisle was HUGE. The shelves were towering over me. I started to sweat, and my eyes felt hot and squinty. It was like that time Frodo Baggins decided to go on an adventure to Mordor with his bro Sam, and it ended up being not-so-fun for either of them.

It was all too much. This was the end. This was the end of the end.

In a panic, I just grabbed any pasta and dashed out of there to the next aisle. However, I’m barely around the corner when I sensed a familiar presence; an unwelcome presence.

And then I saw it.

IT WAS THE EVIL BABY. It was following me. Somehow, I knew it could sense my fear. I was straight-up terrified.

I didn’t know what to do. So I smiled.

PUT SOME PASSION INTO IT, I thought to myself.

My face hurt from smiling at the evil baby, but my efforts were futile, so I decided to make a run for it. I had nothing left to lose.

After my half-mile sprint across the store, I hid behind a cart of baked goods and reviewed my options. Evil baby screamed in the distance. It was his battle cry.

The fluorescent light glared down upon me. Everything else was dark and cold (probably because I was near the frozen food aisle, but still, it was very dramatic and tense). I huddled myself behind the bread and the light revealed my hiding spot; like a criminal during interrogation. I was nearly done with the food shopping. Somehow, I managed to gather my items during my sprint.

I stood up and gathered my last items. It was time for checkout. I had to be swift.

The problem with getting on-line to pay for your food is that there are usually about 10 possible registers you could go to, but only 2 or 3 are actually open. Not to mention, it’s overstimulating to be waiting there.

So not only am I not overstimulated from the workout that is food shopping, but now I have to wait on a line with noisy people doing noisy things with noisy machines while the speakers in the store shout noisy things at me.

I waited on line #2 for what seemed like half a century, and when I finally get up there, I’m relieved. Of course, the pimply adolescent male at the register informs me that he is now “closed.”

No he wasn’t closed. His light was still on. I decided to address this contradiction. I thought it would be best to address him by his name, that way, I’d look like I meant business, while still being sincere. So I glanced at his name tag.

Ok. So the dude had a weird name. I’m gonna roll with it.

Well, “Blake,” obviously didn’t give a flying poo about me or the fact that I was near sensory meltdown. Thankfully, another store employee said something like, “Blake, just help this young lady then you’re done for the day.”

I was overjoyed with gratitude for this person! I could’ve cried with thankfulness. Dear person, whoever you are, I love you.

And I was all like:

And Blaeck was all like:

After dealing with Blaeck, and the incredibly loud beeps at the register, I left the store with no additional encounter with evil baby. Although, his demonic screams will forever haunt my nightmares.

I put the groceries into my trunk, got to my car, and got lucky with no horn/car alarm related incidents. It was just another food shopping adventure. Victory was mine. All in a day’s work.

Thunderstorms

For all you people who just love thunderstorms, I envy you. In my body, thunderstorms are the worst. Take all the worst things ever, put them together and wrap them up in shiny paper, and put a bow on it, and you have thunderstorms. If you’re like me, anticipating a thunderstorm is like preparing for the Apocalypse. You have your gear. You have your rituals. You have your safe spot (usually the dog is in your spot too because dogs know what’s about to go down and they don’t mess around).

Let’s go over exactly why thunderstorms are so dreadful awful.

The most obvious problem here is that the source of the problem is uncontrollable. I can’t control the sky. You can’t control the sky. Your creepy uncle who collects miniature ceramic horses can’t control the sky.

Thunderstorms are evil in their ability to be wherever they want, whenever they want.

First, the sky gets dark and ominous. When has anything good ever come from being dark and ominous? Let’s see….oh yes, nothing good has ever come from darkness and ominousness.

After the initial stage, when the storm has warmed up and stretched, the real fun begins.

The sky flashes with a bright, blinding light. I for one am only slightly happy about this because it gives me a warning. At the same time, I’m startled by the light – especially if the room I’m in is dark – and thrown off balance entirely. Something like this:

Then – the worst part – THUNDER. It’s loud. It’s sudden. It’s everywhere. It’s merciless. Thunder, like all sound, cannot be grabbed, pushed, or shooed away. It’s just there, in the air, being a jerk.

Regular people – those neurotypicals – just love a good thunderstorm. They love to love it, and they don’t understand why I don’t love it. They’re all like:

Those people suck. There, I said it. Meanwhile, I’m like:

As I type this, a thunderstorm is warming up itself in the sky. The lights are flickering. My left eye is twitching. But most importantly, it’s time to make some important decisions. It’s time to look at my choices.

Choice A: My musicians earplugs. I never use these because they are painful and ineffective. This shouldn’t even be a choice… I don’t know why I included it. *facepalm*

Choice B: Orange wax earplugs. Both effective and less painful. AND ORANGE!

Choice C: Noise-canceling headphones. A+ for comfort, but I’ll give them a C- for effectiveness. Thunderstorms are too much for these devices.

Choice D: aka, the best choice. These are my ZEMS. If I could, I would wear these babies everywhere.

The only way I’ve learned to fight thunderstorms is by wearing my ZEMS. God Bless my ZEMS. They are awkward as hell, but bless ‘em.

ZEMs are worn by people with large heads who work near loud machinery or airplanes. They are also worn by me, and I definitely don’t have a large head by any means. These ear devices look like headphones, only uglier. They take the sound that is coming towards my ears and say “NUH-UH SOUND. NOT TODAY,” and then sound is like, “oh, my bad.”

Above is a gentleman wearing his ZEMS. Nice job, mister. Way to go.

Choice E: My fingers. By shoving my pointer fingers into my ears, I can substantially decrease thunderstorm sound invasion. Further, my fingers make for good rapid-fire ear protection – perfect for those sudden moments of thunderstorm doom when there’s no time for making choices!

Choice F: Finally, we have choice F, meltdown/coma. F stands for failure, futile, freak-out, frenzy, and another f-word. When all else fails, my last choice is to just give into the thunderstorm and have myself a sensory meltdown. Choice F is not very effective, by the way.

So what’s a girl to do?

I often try to pretend to be a thunderstorm badass, but that can be hard to do considering badassery is probably the last characteristic I would pick to describe myself in any given situation. This is what I would look like if I was a thunderstorm badass:

…and this is what I look like because I’m not a thunderstorm badass:

Hiding under the thunderstorm protection blanket with my dog.

Speaking of awful noises from the sky, the 4th of July is coming up…like now. I should make a post about that because it’s ~~Independence Day~~ the worst day of the year.

Escalators

Let’s talk about escalators. Let’s really talk about them.

Firstly, who in their right mind thought that a moving staircase was a good idea? As if I don’t have enough problems going up and down regular, non-mobile stairs, yea, why not, let’s make the stairs move. Minus 30 points from Gryffindor!

Humans with ASD (Autistic Spectrum Disorders), Sensory Disorders, inner ear issues, can I get an amen?!

The Problem

The flaw is in the design, actually. The fact that escalators are usually in large, open areas does not help that when you are on them, you feel like you are flying through space and time. In addition to this, the walls that connect the handrail to the actual staircase are usually clear/see through. As in, I can see the world moving around me, but my body is completely still. And then my vestibular system is all like, “WHAT’S GOING ON. STOP.”

As I prepare myself to get onto the ~~death trap~~ escalator, humans gather behind me and I can feel their sense of impatience growing indefinitely. Except it’s worse because it’s a collective social impatience; like a giant ugly blob of peer pressure.

Escalators are terrible aside from the possible threat of being sucked into the machinery, underneath the floor and down into the deepest pit of hell. Momsy always warned me of that when I was younger. Thanks mom.

Humans of my neurotype are not designed to casually walk on and off an escalator. The idea of going from a flat, stable surface to one that is moving uphill or downhill is not only disturbing, but highly unproductive. As much as I would like to, my body struggles to use an escalator. I have comprised a list of several steps which I take when dealing with escalators:

1. Prepare body, mind, and spirit for descent/elevation via moving stairs. This is a personal experience unique to each individual.

2. Allow other humans to go ahead of you, knowing your escalator experience will take longer. This will avoid collective social impatience to build up behind you.

3. When the time has come, select a stair as it emerges from the start of the staircase. But choose quickly, or else you will miss it, and then have to pretend you weren’t going for that stair in the first place.

4. Now comes the hard part, in a matter of mere seconds, you must hurl your body through the air and securely onto the chosen step before it begins its journey.

5. Once on the step, grab hold of the handrail, which may or may not be covered in germs. If so, casually grab the nearest person who will (hopefully) be less germy. Hold onto them for as long as socially possible. Don’t make eye contact.

6. Don’t look down, up, sideways, left, or right. Closing your eyes only will help sometimes. Just don’t look anywhere…pretend your on a tropical island sipping a martini.

7. Once you find yourself towards solid ground again, prepare yourself for dismount. Let go of the handrail or stranger, and bend your knees slightly. Focus on your landing spot. It’s all you now.

8. Quickly jump off, and land on both feet. Use your arms (or a stranger again if necessary) to stable yourself. Be as nonchalant as possible.

Implications

The more I think about this escalator stuff, it’s absolutely absurd. My whole life, whenever I encountered an escalator, I’ve always had to find a REAL staircase or an elevator to use instead because the escalator was so irrational.

Side note: the elevator being used for an escalator alternative has to have solid walls, and not see-through walls, because I can’t handle that see-through crap sauce as I’ve already explained.

I am the member of the family that refuses to go down the escalator at the mall. I am the one that causes the hassle for everyone. My family knows this and I’m glad they enjoy themselves as they watch me attempt to tackle an escalator. Also, don’t ask me why I even go to malls because I don’t know, alright?

To this day, I believe the escalator is a traumatic torture device used to publicly humiliate me and others like me who experience a neurological disconnect from the modern world. Humans are not designed evolutionarily to travel via moving staircase. It’s just WRONG.

In the end, the escalator and I have slightly improved our relationship over time. Do I still sweat like a sinner in church when I approach an escalator. You bet. Do I get on it and off it and do the best I can despite the ridiculousness of the situation. Yes.

Buddy the Elf knows what I’m talking about. Look at that form:

You can see the collective social impatience building up behind him. Everything I said was true.

Eating Off Plastic

An illustrated blog about neurological misfortunes and some other things

Food Shopping

Thunderstorms

Escalators