The Grocery Bowl

I woke up on Super Bowl Sunday like a kid on Christmas morning. The highly anticipated advertising, great company, and Beyonce halftime show provided some excitement towards an otherwise dreary Sunday in the slums of February. Apart for a bunch of men running around in tight spandex, the Super Bowl would amount to nothing without a choleric buffet of hot wings and chili. Every year, my mom and I add to this selection of food with the simple, yet undeniable, pigs in a blanket. A true crowd pleaser. I set off for Hienen's after church that morning, aware of the hundreds of football fans that would do the same. I drove to the store with incentive. With determination. I turned on the radio to 102.1, tapping my fingers against the wheel to the guitar riff of 'Eye of the Tiger." I knew what awaited me. Extreme grocery shopping. The intensity picked up as I rolled into the parking lot, and a soccer mom in a Honda Odyssey immediately cut me off. I played musical chairs with the other parking-spot hopefuls for about ten minutes, weaving aimlessly through the lot. The Super Bowl shoppers and I exchanged ugly glances and angry honks in a steadfast competition for a spot. Only after entering Hienen's did I realize that parking the car was only half the battle. In the midst of this enormous pre-game crowd, I snagged a shopping cart, set my purse down, and set off for the first item on my list: Pillsbury cresents. I stopped for no one. Not even free samples. My first stop, refrigerated foods, could not seem more far away.  I hesitantly pushed my cart, trying to hide my anxiety and intimidation amongst the chaotic crowd of last minute hor d'oeuvre makers. I notice a middle-aged woman next to me, sporting a perm and a San Francisco 49'ers jersey - the same one who nearly initiated our fender bender in the parking lot. We exchanged a brusque grin after making eye contact, and continued on our way. After awkwardly walking side by side for the next few moments, we internally acknowledged that we shared a mutual goal: the crescents. What began as a leisurely stroll, quickly turned into a relentless race for the blanket of the pigs. By the time passed through produce, the electrifying chorus of "Eye of the Tiger" rang in my head, fueling the intensity. I grabbed the biscuits before she could say 'interference.' Mrs. Mini Van stood in disbelief as I smugly dropped the package in my cart. I won this battle. My extreme grocery shopping excursion did not stop there, however. This victory inspired me to seek out the final item on the list: mini hot dogs. I made my way towards the packaged meat aisle with a newfound confidence, lacking common curtesy by failing to move for other shoppers. I embarked on this journey for two ingredients, and two ingredients only. Upon arrival at the department of Lunchables and Oscar Meyer, I found an overwhelming display of hot dogs. Beads of sweat started to form as I glanced at the selection. Mini Franks, Lil Smokies, and BBQ Wieners. It was simply too much. I had to make a decision. Angry mobs approached the aisle as time ran out. I only had the offensive advantage for a few more moments. How could I choose? Then it hit me. I would buy all three. Touchdown! I quickly grabbed the dogs and threw them in my cart, just barely averting the tackle of determined shoppers. As I escaped the madness and strutted towards the checkout with my flakey rolls and assorted wieners, I swear I could hear Europe's "The Final Countdown" playing overhead. I had just wont the Grocery Bowl.