May 17, 2007

Confessions from the Carpool

From Carded to Carted

By Shana McLean Moore
Special to the Times

Not to get too nostalgic here, but do you remember getting carded when you purchased your first wine cooler or strawberry daiquiri? You know, back in the days when there was still a little baby fat left in your cheeks, a youthful glow on your skin (even with Clearasil), and a sparkle in your eye that proved you hadn’t been up all night with a crying baby?

Despite what the mirror now tells us, we once had the doe-eyed look that guaranteed our ID would be held to the light and studied more than an economics text book before they would hand over the four-pack of Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers that made us feel so grown up.

Then, before we knew it, the young buck behind the bar started being a little less studious. He slipped from Dean’s List to academic probation by shooting a vacant glance at our ID before sliding our margaritas down the bar.

Another few years passed, and the clerk at the grocery store started performing a token scan of our crow’s feet in lieu of checking our date of birth. Surely he was too young to be humming along to “Delta Dawn,” as he rang us up. Could she be a faded rose from days gone by? Yes, bub, but we see enough hesitation in your eye that you ought to go ahead and ask for ID just in case the local representative from ABC is next in line. Or we take our business elsewhere.

And then, horror of all horrors, we reached the day when the checker stopped bothering to look up at all, as he scanned the volume-discounted bottles of Chardonnay and the rest of the groceries spilling from our overburdened cart. This meant, of course, that the whippersnapper was convinced he wouldn’t be risking his job by contributing to the delinquency of a minor. After all, it isn’t a crime to contribute to the delinquency of a major.

When it comes to this, ladies, we’re just lucky to get out of the store without him accidentally calling us “Mom” when he asks if we need help to the car.

Yet as a true sign that we are adjusting to the changes in our face and in our psyche, many of us have started to look at this more practically. Who cares, right? One less hassle to deal with, one less scrutinizing eye on our business and us.

Well, if this hasn’t already happened to you, please take what I am about to say as a public service announcement: Just when the world stops carding you, they start “carting” you.

Fortunately, by this I do not mean strapping you down and hauling you off to the local mental ward. Not yet, anyway. What I mean is having the critical eye leave your face and travel directly to your shopping cart.

It happens to me time and again as I cruise the aisles of my local Safeway or Albertson’s. I run into an old pal or acquaintance from the school and, while we’re chatting, I catch them examining the contents of my cart. Some might consider this discovery to be the eye of my guilty conscience, which knows quite well that the processed food market is expanding not only Nabisco’s bottom line, but mine as well.

Once I have been carted, though, I am forced to look at my purchases objectively. What I usually notice is that my shame magnifies with the amount of products I am purchasing that are packaged in the eye-catching shade of marigold. I might as well have a flashing neon light signaling from my cart: Hey, this lady is buying Eggo frozen waffles, Toll House cookie dough, Lay’s classic potato chips, and Corn Pops cereal. All at the same time! Can you believe it? Radio your contact at Jenny Craig—we have a prospect on aisle 7.

I think I speak for all the indulgent types when I beg you carters, with your baskets full of leafy greens and whole grain cereals, to maintain eye contact. It’s the polite thing to do. Your discretion will allow us to refrain from picking up phantom phone calls, hiding our heads in the tabloids until you’ve passed, or messing up the color scheme of our cart by throwing in some produce we’ll just have to compost.

You never know, your good manners might just get you invited over for some of that Chardonnay. And, for the record, we card all women who look under 80.

Shana McLean Moore lives in Almaden Valley and is the co-author of “Femail: A Comic Collision in Cyberspace” and the author of “Caffeinated Ponderings on Life, Laughter & Lattes.” For more information visit Moore’s Web site at www.caffeinatedponderings.com.