When a Simple Trip to the Store Turned Into a Full-Blown Expedition

By Mark Morgan

www.markmorganbooks.com

I walked into the grocery store the other day planning to buy one simple thing.

Potato chips.

That was the whole mission.

Not a cart-full situation. Not a “better stock up for winter” kind of trip. Just a bag of chips so I could sit on the porch later and watch the evening roll.

Now when I was a kid, buying potato chips was about as complicated as tying your boots.

You walked in, grabbed a bag, and went home.

There were two choices.

Plain… and barbecue.

Maybe sour cream and onion if the store was feeling mighty fancy that week.

But nowadays you step into the chip aisle and it looks like a flavor factory exploded.

Dill pickle chips.Jalapeño cheddar chips.Sweet chili mango barbecue chips.Flamin’ hot ranch chips.And something called “volcano crunch,” which sounds less like a snack and more like a forest fire.

I stood there staring at that shelf so long I got more confused than a cow looking at a new gate.

And that was just the first aisle.

Then I wandered over to the cereal section.

Now when I was growing up, cereal was simple.

Corn flakes.Cheerios.Frosted flakes.

And if you were lucky, there was a toy in the box.

Not a fancy toy either.

Usually a little plastic submarine or a whistle that drove your mama crazier than a mosquito in a screen tent.

But that toy made breakfast feel like Christmas morning.

You’d dig through half the cereal box like a gold miner trying to find that prize before your brother did.

Now I looked at the cereal aisle the other day and nearly needed a trail map.

Chocolate blast crunch.Birthday cake cereal.Peanut butter marshmallow galaxy nuggets.

Boxes so colorful they could guide airplanes at night.

But you know what I noticed?

Not a single toy.

All those cereals… and not one little submarine.

Which means kids today are eating sugar shaped like a cartoon asteroid and still not getting a whistle out of the deal.

By the time I finished wandering that store I felt like I’d taken a college course in snack foods.

And that’s when I started noticing something else about modern life.

Everything has a cord.

Phones have cords.Watches have cords.Earbuds have cords.Tablets have cords.

My house has so many charging cables laying around it looks like somebody dumped a pot of spaghetti behind every piece of furniture.

Back when I was a kid the only thing you might have to charge was the tractor battery after running it all day bush-hogging a pasture somewhere out past Waldron.

You’d hook that battery to a charger in the shop, flip the switch, and go inside for supper.

By morning that tractor would crank stronger than a mule pulling a feed wagon.

Nowadays if you leave the house you better check three things:

Your wallet.Your keys.And whether half your electronics are about to die like a grasshopper in January.

But the thing that really got me thinking about how much the world has changed happened later that afternoon when my truck started making a noise that sounded like two raccoons arguing under the hood.

So I drove it down to a mechanic shop.

Now years ago when you brought a vehicle to a mechanic, he didn’t plug it into a computer.

He listened.

That man would lean over the hood, squint at the engine like it owed him money, tap something with a wrench, and scratch his chin.

Then he’d rev the motor a little and nod his head like a doctor checking a heartbeat.

Finally he’d say something like,

“Hmm… sounds like your fuel pump’s fussier than a hen with one chick.”

And somehow he’d be exactly right.

Those old mechanics could diagnose a truck faster than a coonhound finding supper.

And if they didn’t have the exact part?

They’d make one.

I once saw a mechanic cut a piece out of a coffee can with tin snips, bend it with a pair of pliers, bolt it on, and send that truck down the road running smoother than a preacher on Sunday morning.

Now days you pull into a shop and the first thing they do is plug your truck into a computer.

Lights blink.Screens glow.Numbers pop up that look like secret government codes.

Then the mechanic looks at the screen and says,

“Well according to the computer your module B-17 sensor is malfunctioning.”

Now I’m sure that computer knows what it’s talking about.

But it still doesn’t sound nearly as impressive as,

“Your truck’s coughing like a mule that swallowed a June bug.”

Now don’t get me wrong.

Modern life is easier in a lot of ways.

We’ve got more choices, more technology, and more convenience than folks ever dreamed about.

But sometimes it feels like we’ve made things so complicated that a simple trip to buy potato chips turns into a decision harder than picking a favorite grandkid.

We’ve got fifty kinds of chips, a cereal aisle bright enough to be seen from space, cords plugged into every wall, and trucks that talk to computers before they talk to mechanics.

And somehow that simple errand still takes half an afternoon.

After standing in that chip aisle fifteen minutes…

I started wishing the whole store worked like the old days.

Two choices.

And one of them was usually right.