Inadvertent

I don’t know why it is that I always have stories about the commissary.  Although I did have a staff person ask me if I was there every day (Um, you think I would come here for fun?!).  I suppose other people go to the commissary without incident, but then again they must have really boring blogs. 

Today started as a good trip, even though it started pouring rain just as I was about the put the dutchkid in the car. That’s ok, we don’t mind getting wet.  It made for fewer crowds. We cruised through in less than 45 minutes. As a treat for being so cooperative (if a bit loud – she had been serenading passersby), I let her pick out some animal crackers in the cute red box.

When we loaded into the car to head home, I realized that I forgot to save them out and they were in the trunk with the rest of the groceries. So after I buckled the dutchkid in, I told her I would go look. “Oh no, Mama, they’re right here!” she says proudly, opening up the little play purse she had with her. Sure enough, there they are.

My girl, a thief at 3. 

I even talk to her frequently about how we always pay the nice lady before we open or eat anything from a store!  I was so tempted, standing there in the rain, to just get in the car and take her and the stolen goods home.  But I couldn’t do it.  After the whole fiasco with the birthday cake!?  I’m lucky they even let me IN the commissary. We went back inside.  Paid for the crackers, all $1.10 of them.  She must take after her daddy.

About that cake…

Reason #1001 why I love the commissary.

I ordered the dutchkid’s birthday cake this year because we had so many people coming and I decided I needed to let go of wanting her to have a homemade cake. For some reason I felt stressed out about trying to plan the birthday festivities, especially if I had to make the cake too. I would have preferred to just have a very small gathering… but that’s another post.

Since the neighborhood was coming, I ordered a half sheet cake with four Disney princesses on it. Hey, if you’re going to the trouble, might as well go all the way, right? The deli lady told me you pay for it when you pick it up, how nice! So on the day of the party while I was running around getting things ready I sent dh to get it.

They did a beautiful job, the dutchkid was seriously “wowed”. When I asked dh how much it was, he says to me, “Didn’t you pay for it when you ordered it? I was going through the self checkout but the lady and I couldn’t find the bar code. I said you must have already paid.”

That man managed to walk out of the commissary without paying for the cake! If I would’ve tried something like that, even innocently, I would get arrested, but him? He just smiles sweetly and those ladies eat it up. So of course, because he’s ever-so-proud of his frugality, even when it borders on the illegal, he had to tell everybody at the party how he got the cake for free. Here is a picture of my darling innocent daughter blowing out the candles on her stolen birthday cake:

I know I put my phone number on the order sheet but I never even got a call about it. I went first thing after the MLK holiday and paid the nice deli lady for the cake. She laughed and thanked me for coming back. I told her that I couldn’t have shown my face in there again without making it right! Only at the commissary would they trust someone enough to make it right on their own.

Commissary dress code

Last week I was in the commissary, minding my own business at the deli (as usual).  The deli here has some new staff and they move at approximately the speed of molasses in January.  Suddenly I realize that the older ladies in front of me are all atwitter about something, whispering and stealing glances at a girl standing over by the cakes.  I was confused.  I had seen her standing there and thought to myself that I liked the color of her long, flowing skirt. 

As the girl sort of sashayed away pushing her cart one of the ladies says to me, “Don’t ever do that, that is so inappropriate!” My confusion must have shown on my face because one of the other ladies said,”Didn’t you see that girl?  You could see right through her skirt and she was wearing a thong!” They then commenced to talk about how back in the day you would be asked to leave the commissary if your shorts were too short.  As my number was called to place my order they were trying to decide if someone should go tell her.  I was reminded of Erin’s awkward experience with that swim suit lady.

I thought it was kind of funny, until I got to the checkout and happened to witness the girl unloading her cart.  Um, that skirt must have been made of gauze.  I could seriously see her butt cheeks and nevermind when she bent over.  Eww.  And I suspect that it was intentional, so I did not enlighten her. 

When I got home my dh was home for lunch and so I told him the saga.  And all he said to me was, “Your cell phone has a camera in it, right?”  It’s a good thing he’s not in charge of the commissary dress code.

Just shoot me now.

I had to go to the commissary today. I had to. Anyone want to take a guess as to what today is? That’s right, everybody, it’s not just Tax day, it’s payday!

For my non-military readers, payday in the military happens twice a month (unless you elect to get paid only once a month), the 1st and the 15th. One of the first things you learn as a spouse is that unless you absolutely have to, you DO NOT go to the commissary on payday. Long lines, grumpy retirees, aisles so crowded you can barely fit through… I was missing the old system back when dh was first in the Army where they had arrows directing you on the floor of the commissary.

But I had to go today because we have guests coming tomorrow and I even had a good attitude. I got there early, I smiled at people and I was polite. I resisted the temptation to play bumper cars with my cart. The dutchkid wore her big girl panties for the first time out in public and used the potty in the commissary! I managed to get done in under an hour. I gave the dutchkid an apple juice box to keep her happy in the checkout line (I swear, it might as well be a minefield with the candy within reach) and unloaded the cart.

I knew it was too good to be true. I waited there for 20 minutes. The cashier had made some sort of unsolvable error with the customer in front of me. By the time they called the third manager over to help, my good attitude had melted away with all my frozen stuff. The dutchkid was having her own little meltdown. I ended up reloading my cart to get back into line.

We made it home, the end in sight, good attitude returning… right up until the dutchkid wet her pants while I was unloading the car.

It’s so easy to make me happy

hee hee! I spotted a display of these bags in the commissary this week and I think I scared the other patrons with my dance of joy:

I really like the idea of reusable bags, and I have been either bringing back my paper bags to be reused or using some canvas tote bags. I don’t have enough of them, though, and the baggers don’t seem to like them (meaning they would pack about 1 thing in the bag and then use as much paper as they could). I had been wanting to order some bags just like this (they’re called green bags) because they have a flat bottom, but online they’re expensive! These were 70¢ !! And even better they promote the commissary, my absolute favorite benefit of being a military dependent.

Yes, I’m aware that I’m a dork.