The shoppers card, man, it’s the shoppers card

Standing in line at the grocery store with a carton of eggs under my left arm, a half gallon of ice cream in my hand with a loaf of bread balancing on top of it while I dig around my purse for my shoppers card.

This is my life.

Holding tight to the necessities, the nutrients, that I know I can’t go on without, mostly because, well breakfast…—the eggs.

Grasping hard onto the sweet things that I don’t necessarily need, I guess it’s more of a want, but let’s be real here, it’s a need—the ice cream.

All the while balancing what’s thrown at me, hoping it won’t fall, but if it does, it won’t be a catastrophic event, only some dings that can be squished back into place good enough for a sandwich—the bread.

A plastic card that represents “discounts” and “‘loyalty” is what makes things hairy. Implied loyalty, and the search of a good deal suddenly becomes more important than your health, your desires, and your opportunities. Placing such trust in your left arm, the less dominant one, the weak one, to search for a symbol of your crutch is what can fuck your shit up…The whole thing can come tumbling down, but still, you balance. You look like a damn fool, but you balance and search. Why? Because it’s important. We hold what we can, and search for the tool that will get us what we want. Because if we don’t go after what we want these items will only be that, items. Items that fill yourself up, take up room, and just stay there. They don’t have a purpose nor a direction. Not until you scan that shoppers card and get the $2.50 in savings for shopping there.

Not to piggyback on the successful credit card slogan that Samuel L. Jackson has hammered into our brains, but, what’s in your wallet?

Author: emilysagepineda

25 years young. Michigan State alumni. Weirdo, entrepreneur, food lover, and ice cream addict. Constantly searching for adventures and inspirations in this life of mine.

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