We bought a grill Saturday, and I have a hankering for grilled chicken. (My kids call it Mrs. Angie's chicken. I call it Pete-sent-me-into-labor chicken.) I needed to go to the store to get some chicken, hopefully cheap Italian marinade, a box of Jiffy mix, herbs, garlic, and a pineapple. All went super well at the church, and we were in the grocery store parking lot in time to get a parking spot!
Everything went downhill from there. Jiffy mix was kind of a pipe dream, but I thought we would check anyway. Carson has been wanting some corn casserole, and his behavior is better when he picks the food, so I'm making corn casserole! Of course, they have no Jiffy Mix. I now get to google copycat Jiffy Mix recipes.
Since I'm currently struggling to talk without croaking or squeaking, I decided to forgo the meat counter and just buy the prepackaged chicken breasts. I found a package with 5 breasts, got the rest of my groceries and headed to the cash register.
The cash register is always when my blood pressure rises. Everything can get interesting there. The language barrier can become more of a barrier, but I didn't have anything tricky. I had high hopes for a smooth transaction. I was wrong.
The chicken wasn't scanning. She typed in the upc-ish code. Lots of beeping. The bagger runs back to check with the butcher. They both come up to the front. He tells her the code. Beeping. He has her enter it again. Nothing. Then, the Panama part. They tell me I can't buy the chicken. (We aren't in the US anymore.) I try to have them just enter the price. Nothing. I try to act out weigh it like produce. I think they beeped. I give up and pay.
But my credit card won't work. Why should it work anyway? Fortunately, I had more cash on me than normal so I hand her a $50 bill. (Panama uses US currency.) She calls the manager over. Man, I forgot that all the illegal money makes them hesitant to accept large bills. She uses the little money marker. She holds it up to the light. She does the hokey pokey, has me sign a piece of paper, and agrees to accept it. Praise God- I'm done here.
We get in the van, and I lose it. Not a pretty moment, but it was real. I'm crying. I'm very thankful that my Spanish is really bad still, or I would have said something ugly to the cashier. I have grocery bags full of fixins, but nothing for dinner. I got stuck baking. With yeast. Ugh.
For dinner tonight, we will be having hamburgers (on homemade buns) and potato packets (on the Lisa-assembled grill). We will also have something green and corn casserole (with homemade Jiffy mix). And then, I'm going to bed.