Necessities of Life, Part One

So today I decided that I needed two things without any further delay. First, I realized several days ago after buying a few cans of concentrated orange juice that I don't actually own a pitcher. I briefly considered just spooning the concentrate directly into my mouth and swishing it around with a gulp of water, but I decided against this because nobody had actually dared me to do it yet.

Second, I decided that I was sick of throwing the trash into shopping bags hanging from a hook inside the small pantry in the kitchen. Not only do these fill up fast, but I am becoming increasingly paranoid that a bag will leak and I will be forced to clean the floor, a task I rank with tooth surgery and conversation with 18-year-old SDSU sorority chicks.

So, after class (mind-numbing, but I'll bore you with that later) I drove to my local Target store because we all know that Target has everything, without being K-mart or, God forbid, Wal-Mart.

Both these items took a great deal more effort than I had assumed they would.

The pitcher. I figured they would be in kitchen supplies, and indeed, many were. Shiny pewter ones, stylish ceramic ones with artful coloring, clear glass ones. Lots of wonderful variey. Unfortunately, I wasn't looking for a pitcher that would impress potential girlfriends. I just wanted something cheap that wouldn't shatter when it hit the floor and necessitate the wearing of shoes in the kitchen for fear of teeny tiny splinters of glass.

So then a nice man in a red vest asked me if I needed any help. I said that I did and told him I wanted a pitcher. He then showed me the pitchers I didn't want. I want a cheap plastic pitcher, I said.

Ooh, he said. Not sure we have any plastic pitchers. I found this hard to believe, but he asked around on his walkie-talkie anyway. Finding the information I wanted took, once again, more effort than I had assumed it would.

I could start making pretentious, asinine observations about the level of intelligence and aptitude of the Target employee at this point, but I have to admit, if I worked there, I really doubt that I would know where the plastic pitchers were either. I just wouldn't care. Target is a huge place, full of stuff. If I got paid enough money to care, maybe I would, but the pay at Target sucks. So I wouldn't. And I would be morose, too.

And we found out where the pitchers were, anyway. Aisle C2, down the main aisle there, hang a left at the toilet paper.

So that task done, I set out to find the trash cans. Another man told me they were the next aisle over. I was disappointed once again, though. Some trashcans were there, but of the very-small-we'll-just-hide-this-can-and-pretend-it-isn't-in-the-room variety. First off, I don't want a small trash can, because I am already emptying the trash every daya anyway. Second, I have no place to hide it. Third, I'm a guy, so hiding my trash isn't nearly as important to me as it is to my mother.

Anyway. The trashcans I wanted belonged on the empty shelf next to the small trash cans. If you're clever, you can see what my problem here was. That's right. An empty shelf means the trash cans I want are out of stock.

So depressing. But I cheered myself up by impulse-buying the first season of Scrubs, then agonizing over the money I wasted as I walked out of the store.

But at least now I have orange juice, dammit.