Be a Game Show-style Contestant (Race Day)

I know from years of competitive sports that the race is won before it’s begun. Preparation, attitude, mental toughness, and thinking like a winner. That’s what I was going to bring to the Supermarket Sweep.

So it was tough choosing between the “Princess Tiara” and the “Sparkling Light Sword” as I stood in the Dollar General preparing to buy something that would psyche out our competitors. The tiara said to me, “Royalty . . . but on the cheap,” while the faux light saber screamed, “Intimidation . . .  at $4 a piece!”

Oh, yes, intimidation it is.

You should have seen the looks on our competitors’ faces as my NOLA.com teammate David Lee and I stood proudly in the entrance of Winn-Dixie that afternoon wielding our awe-inspiring, plastic, dollar-store light sabers. They shared a mixture of shock, fear, and uncertainty, as if they were thinking, “What’s the number for Security?” 

Game over!

But just to be safe, David Lee and I mapped out our race strategy as we walked the aisles before the race. We’d split up to start; he’d take the cart and grab pricey items as I raced to get more expensive hams and he’d meet me there.

See, we were going to zig when other contestants zagged; while they fought each other over frozen turkeys, no one would be at the hams, so I could load up. Then, we’d get the frozen turkeys when everyone else had moved on.

Ingenious. If ingenious means “Not genius.”

My fellow media idiots emptied a full case of 80-plus frozen turkeys in the 25 seconds before we got there. It was like I’d gone shopping for a turkey at midnight on Thanksgiving.

Our race plan, as elaborate as two guys in a supermarket can make it, was shattered. Which is why the final 3 minutes and 35 seconds we were so clueless. A co-worker, when told we didn’t get any frozen turkeys, asked, “Haven’t you guys ever gone shopping before?”

That’s when we came up with a new plan: Grab everything! So we raced back up the aisles throwing anything we could into our cart.

With one cart filled—you could only have one cart in action at a time—David Lee set off to find heart-healthy items off a shopping list we’d been provided. It was for charity, after all. He’d carry them and meet me while I took the cart and raced off in pursuit of our secret weapon.

From watching old re-runs of “Supermarket Sweep” and from my own pre-race check to make sure it was still true, I knew wheels of high-priced cheese were the frozen turkeys of the refrigerated section. Actually, they were more expensive and took up less cart space.

I grabbed four wheels of imported cheese I couldn’t pronounce and would never want to eat at $219 each, and two wheels of the slightly-less-expensive-but-also-inedible variety for $110 each. That was $1,100 worth of food and plenty of cart space left. 

It was for charity, I told myself, not for my glory. Granted, it’s not exactly heart-healthy, but, I mean, the senior citizens might like a whine-and-cheese party: "Ohhh, my aching knees, but this beaujolais de creme de creme is exquisite!" See, I’m not taking this cheese just to win, I’m doing it all for them!

Hey, when the clock’s ticking, it’s easier to rationalize.

It’s also easy to get lost. I couldn’t find David Lee, though I’d prefer to think he was lost and I knew exactly where I was: In a supermarket shouting, “DAVID LEE!” at the top of my lungs like a kid who’d lost his parent.

Oh, the memories of every amusement park I attended when I was young. I think eventually my mom just gave up and gave me a note to hand it to a park employee when (not if) I got lost. Again.

Not wishing to continue my childhood nightmares, I sprinted to the front, where I found David Lee. And a third filled cart. Hmmm, having two carts in play is kind of against the rules.

But I was tired and I’d just picked up close to $1,100 of heart-unhealthy cheese that wasn’t on the shopping list, so I wasn’t about to point a light saber of blame.

With less than 20 seconds left, David Lee and I went off the rails completely and grabbed anything within a five-foot radius of our carts. So I hope the senior citizens enjoy the Froot Loops we got especially for them.

Now came the part I hadn’t expected: the wait. Being the last shopper behind 20-plus overflowing grocery carts is like being in Disney World on national Take Your Kid to Disney World Day.

The only joy: fellow competitors heard the rumors of our cheese wheels of fortune and came over to gawk in despair. One said, “Who would have thought of cheese?”

What normal person isn’t ALWAYS thinking of cheese, I wondered, clutching my light saber.

And yet, that’s where our chance to win vanished for two predictable reasons: supermarket efficiency and a man’s easily distracted brain.

First, someone from the cheese department came along after she’d noticed a thousand dollars’ worth of cheese gone and her career right along with it. So she scanned our cheese wheels to give us credit, but then took all but one of each back, and gave us two receipts.

Each receipt, besides showing the price, also had a handwritten number at the top to indicate there were four of one kind of cheese and two of the other. “Make sure you tell the checkout person to give you credit for all six,” she said politely, and walked away with all but two of our wheels.

That’s when my brain took a vacation and my body went along for the ride. Seeing I’d have a long wait, I walked away and David Lee and I got lunch. Then they wanted to take a group photo of the contestants.

Then I thought I should clear away the growing pile of empty carts, so I pushed them to where they belonged outside the front of the store. And it was a really nice day outside. And, man, that sun feels warm. Squirrel!

By the time I was finished “Walkin’ on Sunshine” and wandered back in the store, they were finished counting our groceries: $1,223.09. Because someone hadn’t told the checkout person how many cheese wheels were on the receipt, someone got credit for just the two in our cart and not the full $1,100 or so.

Someone’s mind can really wander some—squirrel!!

The winning team totaled $2,102.44. What are you gonna do: I lost the race, but not my light saber. How awe-inspiring am I?