Aisle of Shame reminds him to stick to the basics

Bananas, apples, carrots, bread and milk: this is my standard grocery list. I procure these items on a weekly run to the local low-budget grocery store. I am a man of simple tastes and minimalist tendencies, and I strongly feel I could survive indefinitely on these staples, augmented with produce from my garden. Such thoughts drive my wife crazy. The grocery list grows substantially when she becomes involved.

To indulge Kristin’s considerably more sophisticated tastes, I occasionally travel to the next town over, where a national chain offers gustatorial treasures like cinnamon swirl bread, pine nut hummus and rosemary Parmesan crackers. These sorties are not announced ahead of time, lest Kristin offer to join me on the trip — a complication that would not only double our grocery bill, but also place her within striking distance of the Aisle of Shame.

Set amid skids of under-ripe bananas and shelves filled with creamed corn, salt and vinegar almonds, and one-minute ramen, the Aisle of Shame proves an irresistible temptation for all but the most hyper-focused shoppers — an oasis of temptingly priced, seasonally themed, random miscellany glowing in the center of the store like an impulse buyer’s Garden of Eden.

As single-minded and basic as I claim to be, even I found it impossible to avoid the call-of-reflex consumerism while on a recent excursion. Sent for sea salt breadsticks and a port wine cheese ball, I also arrived home with a cordless, portable Bluetooth speaker.

The purchase was entirely unplanned, yet at a meager $9.99, who could possibly pass up the opportunity to discretely spice one’s work-a-day life with a little music? With the little speaker tucked between my desk phone and computer, no one would even know. I was bound to be more productive during the long, slow winter workdays with Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole crooning soft holiday favorites by my side.

The way such devices typically work is you turn the thing on, it automatically connects to your smartphone and then the music begins to play. Sometimes the unit will give a little “beep” to let you know it’s connected, but the beauty of the process is no one else is bothered by your indulgence. I sneaked my new prize into my office, lest I reveal my momentary lapse into flagrant consumerism. Then I flipped the switch.

“THE BLUETOOTH SPEAKER HAS BEEN ACTIVATED,” the little black box shouted in a robotic voice that shot me from my seat, shook the entire room and likely penetrated every wall in the building. I scrambled for the volume dial and rolled it back to zero, but the voice rang out yet again.

“THE BLUETOOTH DEVICE IS LOOKING FOR A CONNECTION.”

I knocked the box into a desk drawer and slammed it shut, then turned the volume all the way down on my phone. The shouting persisted nevertheless.

“SEARCHING FOR A CONNECTION. SEARCHING FOR A CONNECTION.”

Finally, once connected, the device quieted and simply played music as expected — until I left my desk with my phone in my pocket a short time later. My new indulgence screamed for me the entire time I was gone. “CONNECTION HAS BEEN LOST. CONNECTION HAS BEEN LOST.”

It’s tough to be discreet when your new toy tattles on you every time you leave the room.

My Aisle of Shame failing is now the property of a co-worker who is delighted with the idea of entering it in a white elephant gift exchange. I should have stuck to the port wine cheeseball.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.