Ask me why I find my inner center again in the supermarket. Have you ever lived in a construction site? They said “new windows” casually, as if it were a wellness program for the apartment. In truth, it is a dusty apocalypse of my soul. Plaster everywhere, this gray film everywhere that covers my life like a bad-tempered ghost.
Actually, I’m pretty good with chaos, but there isn’t a single place in my home where you could sit down comfortably. No backrest, no comfort. My life is an improvisational theater and the stage design is terrible. Even my beloved 6-by-8-foot bed has been dismantled, leaving only the mattress on the floor.
So it happened that I lost my inner compass. When I enter the house, I am greeted by a lack of will. If an alien came by, he could take me with him. No matter where.
And thus we are in the supermarket. I fled. Without a goal. Without a plan. Just go away. I ran in a direction where I hoped to find some comfort and landed strangely before the next Rewe. The door opened and suddenly something wonderful happened. I became invisible, just another face under the fluorescent lights of the produce department, just another shadow among the sales. I didn’t even know how good that could feel.
Anonymity is my immediate help. My soul slowly comes back to the here and now as I push my car through the aisles. He squeals. In front of me, a man is stacking packages of pasta in a shopping cart as if he’s preparing for the end of the world. a woman checks avocados With the dedication of a heart surgeon and in front of the frozen food aisle, young people discuss whether a frozen pizza for two is romantic or pathetic. Suddenly I’m no longer the focus of my own misery and I’m starting to see the world again. And it will be entertaining again.
My biggest insight: There are no secrets in the shopping cart. You can be as silent as a stone, but the truth is on the conveyor belt. There’s the guy who doesn’t have time and rushes. He doesn’t have the leisure for a car to leisurely stroll through the aisles and be inspired by what’s on offer.
I don’t know if the chips mean comfort
No, he carries everything in the basket until his arm shakes. His product ribbon reveals: margarine, two six-packs of energy drinks, chewing gum, chips, white bread and sausage. It draws a still life called “Things for a Life in Sprint”.
By the way, it’s not true that there are no secrets in the shopping cart. That sounds good, but of course it’s nonsense. I don’t know whether he’s buying the energy drinks and white bread for his sick mother or whether he just wants to be prepared for a gambling evening with friends. I don’t know if the chips mean comfort, reward or simply hunger. And I don’t know if he seems so rushed because his life is too much for him or because he’s just late.
An older man concentrates on checking wine labels as if his entire happiness in life depended on the choice between semi-dry and “dry”. Maybe he’s not looking for wine at all. Maybe he’s just looking for a moment in which he can take himself seriously
All I know is that I’m having fun watching the world again. Shopping as a mirror of the soul. The car as a psychological observation experiment. I put fig mustard in mine and at that moment I realize how beautiful this decision is.
You don’t buy fig mustard by mistake. Fig mustard is not mandatory. Fig mustard is a quiet, barely perceptible declaration of love for life. With a piece of mountain cheese and a baguette, a glimmer of culinary hope.
This text comes from the weekday. Our weekly newspaper from the left! Every week, wochentaz is about the world as it is – and as it could be. A left-wing weekly newspaper with a voice, attitude and the special taz view of the world. New every Saturday at the kiosk and of course by subscription.
While I’m already smiling inwardly in front of the red wine, my gaze wanders back to the other people. They move like characters in a silent ballet of everyday life, each with their own rhythm and their own invisible choreography.
Organic even though it is more expensive? Or no-name and thus take on guilt?
An older man concentrates on examining the labels of various wines as if his entire happiness in life depended on the choice between “half-dry” and “dry”. He frowns, takes off his glasses, puts them back on, tilts his head to the side. I recognize myself. Maybe he’s not looking for wine at all. Maybe he’s just looking for a moment in which he can take himself seriously.
A few meters away, a child pulls a pack of gummy bears from the shelf. Slightly embarrassed at first, but he has learned that no one can be angry with a laughing child. So he grins happily up at his mother with his mouth open as he places the gummy bears on his chest. She looks at the child. But there is no smile at all. She’s annoyed for a millisecond. In the next millisecond she weighs up. Then a nod. And a radiant child.
I like bright children, not all of them, but this one is a prototype of the children I like. Snotty, carefree, unscathed by life and happy about a colorful bag of gummy bears. It’s still a long way from the indecisive woman in the canned tomatoes aisle.
A young woman, perhaps 19 years old, is fighting for control of world events: organic, even though it is more expensive? Or no-name and thus take on guilt? She has both options in her own hands and it’s written on her face how difficult this decision is for her. I feel sorry for her. But I don’t feel like having unpleasant feelings and I don’t look any further.
My shopping cart decides whether I will maintain my found center: Will fig mustard, mountain cheese, red wine, chocolate and two grapefruits help me? I’ll still find out. And isn’t there still a baguette missing? This is available behind the checkout at the bakery. The cash register. Naturally only one is open. The snake stretches over 10 meters.
The beep of the scanner now becomes my mantra. 12 minutes long.