If I were to give my job a title, it might be “assistant head of household.” I don’t work outside the home and my income is hardly worth mentioning compared to that of the boss. While my duties fit those of “housewife,” I lack some important attributes of the title, so it is not a comfortable fit for me.
Everyone knows a housewife is, in fact, the head of the household. Wives know this to be true and no husband in his right mind would challenge it. Thus, the closest term that describes my position is assistant head of household, or AHH — coincidentally, the sound I make when I sense the intoxicating fragrance of Hoppe’s No. 9.
I’ve talked about some of the specifics of my job that I have trouble getting right, like meal planning, but there are other things at which I’m not so bad. Shopping comes to mind. I really don’t mind food shopping, for the most part. Dodging empty carts adrift in the parking lot where lazy and ill-mannered patrons left them is a separate issue I’ve already aired in this column. Save your comments — they won’t change its ranking on my pet peeve list. But once in the store I can open the shopping app on my phone and knock off the items quickly and efficiently because I’m not shopping; I’m buying.
Shopping is very different from buying. No actual wealth is transferred during shopping. One can fondle all the avocados in the store absolutely free of charge and move on to the mulch department, where groping the bell peppers seems to be a popular perversion. Run your fingers over all 12 eggs in the carton and put it back. Check every item in the baking aisle for gluten. Glom onto every sleep aid in the pharmacy section to see if they might cause drowsiness. Check out the bakery section for stuff you used to be able to eat. No cost. Free. I have no time for that.
Coupons? Not a chance. They narrow the search so that each item in the supermarket is a needle in a haystack. Grocery stores have dozens of brands, sizes and qualities of the same item throughout the store. Finding the specific one that will save me 10 cents is a huge waste of time and I won’t do it.
Then, at checkout, do I want to be the customer holding up everyone behind me while each coupon gets scrutinized? I might as well pull out my checkbook to really slow the process and make this a true vintage experience for everyone in line. The lady with the toddler in full meltdown three carts behind me will thank me for giving her enough time to grab a few Xanax from her pocketbook and a Red Bull chaser from the cooler at the beginning of the checkout aisle.
Unlike most housewives and moms in my experience, I’m not the best nurse to deal with serious injury or illness. I had my first experience with what is euphemistically called an “urgent care” facility just the other day. I know the meanings of words drift with the tides of social trends. I was around to take part in the adoption of “cool” as something more than a relative gauge of temperature. I’ve had to watch and listen with dismay as one of the most meaningful superlatives in our language, “awesome,” assumed the same status as “cool.” But when “urgent” means trivial and inconvenient, somebody ought to tell us before we waste valuable time taking a sick or injured friend or relative to an urgent care facility for medical attention, because …
“Hi, welcome to Snail’s Pace Urgent Care. How can we help you? Sir, before we get started, I have to tell you that you’ll probably be waiting for 2 1/2 to three hours. Now, what seems to be the problem?”
I said, “What? Oh, our issue is a bit more urgent than …”
“Our normal provider is not in this morning, but Minerva’s mom came in from the salon to help out today. Perhaps a nice foot massage would help your friend? We close at 8. Does she have insurance? You can wait here and watch HGTV on the big monitors in the waiting area. There is no sound on the TVs so the other waiting patients can use their devices undisturbed. You may wait outside or in your car, but you have to be back here within five minutes of receiving the “ready” notification text we will send to you or you’ll be rescheduled. May I have your cell number? Did I mention that Minerva’s mom is in today?”
So “urgent” now means “casual, trifling, unimportant to our system.” If your medical need is urgent, I suggest going back to bed.
Or shopping.
