It’s Fine

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s celery. Don’t get me wrong, it tastes great with dressing. But it isn’t worth the hassle I went through at the stupid store.

It all began when Mom sent my little brother and I into the grocery store to get some groceries, and one of those groceries was celery. So, my brother, Jackson, and I went in. 

At first, things went well. We got the celery and the other items quickly and went to the self check out. Easy.

We rang up some of our food, and the last thing we had to ring up was the celery, and that was the start of our dilemma. Now, we had to type in the celery we got, and when we typed in “celery” three kinds showed up, one being organic.

Neither I or my brother knew which celery we had grabbed, (though I was certain it was not the organic). It seems grocery shopping quickly has drawbacks.

“I can go back to the aisle and check,” I said. That seemed to be the only and most sensible solution.

But my younger brother had another idea. “No, it’s fine.” He picked the organic celery (which, as I had already guessed, was the most expensive one).

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The organic tends to be differently priced,” I said. Well, that was the idea of what I had said. It was more mumbled. But my brother got the idea.

“It’s fine,” he said.

I sighed, knowing it was not fine. “Okay,” I said, knowing it was not okay.

We bagged the groceries and went back to the car, where Mom was waiting for the bounty.

“We didn’t know which celery to pick,” I said. Or something along those lines.

“What?” Mom said.

“We didn’t know which celery to get so I picked the organic one,” Jackson said. “There were only three options, and they were all organic.”

“No, they weren’t all organic,” I said, because they weren’t.

“Yes, they were.”

“I don’t think they were.”

Mom checked online at celery prices, I guess. “Organic food always costs more,” she said to my sister.

“Well, I can pay for it, and you can take some of my money,” Jackson said.

“But that’s not the point, you can’t just spend money.”

“We can go back in and ask for a refund,” I said. I had offered to do this more than once already in the middle of the whole conversation over a pathetic celery stalk.

“It’s fine,” Mom said. But I knew it was not fine, because she was frowning, making her displeasure at the extra pay for organic celery, which we did not get, all too obvious.

Mom headed home, and on our merry way, I was mostly miserable. I had offered to go check to make sure which kind of celery to get, and that offer was somewhat denied. I had offered to go back inside the store to get a refund, and that had been denied too.

When we got home, and we had brought the groceries in, Mom and I ended up sitting at the kitchen island. As she scrolled on her phone, I had set in my heart to talk to her about the celery conundrum and express my feelings of being somewhat unheard albeit unintentionally. I had imagined the conversation to go in a way where she would see things from my perspective: I had attempted to help, but it was denied by the false statement that things were fine.

But being the excellent communicator that I was, I had no such luck.

To begin the conversation, I used the most genius sentence I could think of. “So…were you going to use that celery?”

My mother looked at me like I had put a hornet’s nest in her room and sat her phone down. “What do you think I should do with the celery?”

“Uh…I don’t know.”

“You think I should return it?”

“Maybe…” and in my own quiet, eloquent, hackneyed way, I proceeded to explain that I had offered to check to see which celery we had gotten before checking out.

“But your brother told you ‘never mind?’ Was he dismissive?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“You need to put your foot down and not let your brother bully you. Now we’re already home and it’s too late to return it now. You should have said something sooner.”

“But I did say I could go inside the store while we were in the parking lot.”

“Well, you should have done it while we were there…” (or something. I don’t recall exactly what she said). “I don’t want to have to be your referee (concerning my brother and I’s disagreement). You’re an adult.”

Admittedly, her criticism may have hurt my pride.

I agreed with her on the point that I had to learn to put my foot down and yes, I was an adult. But, in my own eyes at least, the main issue was that no one had listened, at least not in the sense that I wanted them to listen. In my own quiet way, I had spoken up to both my brother and her, and it made no difference, and now everyone was left disappointed despite my efforts (though, admittedly, they were small efforts). I had attempted to please her, but my attempt was unsuccessful.

But I wasn’t sure how to communicate my hurt without coming off as being a spoiled child whose anger was unfounded. So, I said what I had assumed would somehow further the conversation to where she would ask me a question that would turn the conversation into one where she showed, for lack if a better term, just a little more sympathy. “I don’t think I want to go shopping anymore.”

This, of course, did not bring me one step closer to my goal. In fact, it distanced me from it. In response, Mom ignored me by continuing to scroll on her phone.

Waiting for her to say something in response, I too scrolled on my phone. Nothing but the sound of silence greeted me, along with the voice in my head telling me I had been slighted, perhaps intentionally. She’s ignoring me on purpose because she thinks I’m acting ridiculous, like a child having a tantrum. Maybe she’s right, but still…it wasn’t my fault. Not really.

The silence being unbearable, and the voice saying I had been wronged in some way ringing in my ears (how I had been wronged I was not fully able to translate into thought and word), I stormed to my room, closed the door, and, when my anger was at its peak, through a couple of small objects around, wondering if anyone heard the thumping, wondering if anyone heard me.

I doubt it. No one said anything.

For most of that day, I was angry, but even when I left my room, no one noticed. I was such a great communicator that I had made my rage almost imperceptible to those around me.

In reflection, my mother may not have been ignoring me, at least not on purpose. But whether or not she actually was, I am not sure. Because I’m so great at communicating my feelings, I haven’t bothered to ask.

In fact, I haven’t bothered to talk about the celery incident at all. It’s pointless now. I think.

Needless to say, I now despise celery. And shopping. I despise that too. I also despise my efforts to fix things being rejected, and my efforts to communicate my ideas and concerns being criticized almost every time I attempt to interact with the human race. 

The moral of this story? I suppose the obligatory moral is to put my foot down when necessary, improve my communication skills, and to not be afraid to share how I feel even though it may be completely ridiculous.

But, if I am quite honest, the true moral for me is to avoid any and all occasions where there is bound to be some minor or major conflict, which can include but is not limited to avoiding going shopping for celery with other individuals. Only if there is no possible way to avoid human interactions should one “put their foot down,” which in one way or another is bound to end in failure. Also, don’t bother improving your communication skills, because even if you are the best communicator in the world, sharing your feelings will result in them being ignored or belittled either intentionally or unintentionally.

But if one has to go down, one must go down swinging. 

Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to the confines of my room where I know I’ll be safe from all judgement and where communication skills are not a requirement. It may not be the perfect solution, but it’s fine.