Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: relatable experience

  • The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Checkout Lines

    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Checkout Lines

    The Case of the Rogue Watermelon

    We’ve all been there. Standing in the grocery store checkout line, patiently (or impatiently) waiting our turn. Maybe you’re mentally calculating how many more items until it’s your turn. Maybe you’re engaging in some top-notch people-watching. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re the unfortunate soul stuck behind me and my rogue watermelon.

    You see, I pride myself on being a fairly competent adult. I can parallel park like a boss and make a mean bowl of ramen. But grocery shopping? That’s where my inner child runs wild. I get distracted by shiny packaging, forget to grab the one thing I actually need, and inevitably end up with a wonky assortment of items tumbling haphazardly onto the conveyor belt.

    This particular day, the culprit was a particularly large watermelon. I’m talking “baby hippopotamus” large. Naturally, I’d placed it on the belt last, only to watch in horror as it proceeded to roll, menacingly, towards the unsuspecting cashier.

  • The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember My Own Number (And Other Tales of Forgetfulness)

    The Great Phone Number Fiasco: Why I Can’t Remember My Own Number (And Other Tales of Forgetfulness)



    forgetfulness, with anecdotes that’ll make you laugh and say, “That’s SO me!”

    The Case of the Vanishing Phone Number

    Picture this: I’m at a bustling coffee shop, the air thick with the aroma of caffeine and chatter. I hit it off with someone new, and just as we’re about to exchange numbers, disaster strikes. My mind goes blank. A tumbleweed rolls by in the dusty corners of my brain.

    “Uh… could you hold on a sec? I just need to… uh… check my phone,” I stammer, desperately clutching at my digital lifeline.

    My own phone number. The one I’ve had for five years. The one I should be able to recite in my sleep. It’s gone. Vanished. Flown the coop.

    Forgetfulness Reaches New Levels

    Now, you might be thinking, “Okay, forgetting your phone number is one thing, but surely it can’t get any worse…” Oh, my friend. You underestimate the depths of my forgetfulness.

    One evening, after a long day, I arrived home, groceries in hand, ready to collapse. But as I reached for my keys… empty pocket. Panic surged through me like a jolt of electricity.

    Where were my keys? I retraced my steps, mentally replaying the day. Nothing. I checked every nook and cranny of my apartment. Still nothing. Just when I was about to resign myself to a night locked out, I stumbled upon a sight that made me question my sanity.

    There, nestled snugly between the cartons of milk and leftover takeout, were my keys. In the refrigerator.

  • The Unwritten Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unwritten Rules of Grocery Store Navigation (and Why I Break Them All)

    Grocery Store Navigation (and Why I Break Them All)

    Ever feel like you’re navigating a minefield of unspoken rules at the grocery store? Me too! Join me as I break down (and hilariously disregard) the bizarre etiquette of supermarket shopping.

    The Cart Conundrum

    It all started with a rogue shopping cart. You know the one – abandoned haphazardly in the middle of the aisle, wheels askew, blocking anyone from passing with a basket bigger than a thimble. As I attempted a graceful swerve around this metal obstacle, I realized something profound: grocery shopping is a minefield of unwritten rules.

    These aren’t your grandma’s “always use the tongs” kind of rules (although, seriously, use the tongs). These are the unspoken, often nonsensical codes of conduct that dictate everything from which direction to push your cart to the appropriate level of eye contact with fellow shoppers. And I, my friends, am a walking, talking, grocery-grabbing violation of every single one.

    The Produce Paradox

    Let’s talk about the produce section – the land of misters, suspicious smells, and an unspoken pressure to judge the ripeness of an avocado with the precision of a brain surgeon. I swear, some people can spend an entire afternoon debating the merits of organic versus locally sourced bananas. Me? I’m the one grabbing a random assortment of fruits and vegetables, hoping for the best and bracing myself for the inevitable bag of mushy strawberries.

    The Checkout Challenge

    And then there’s the checkout line – the ultimate test of grocery store etiquette. Do you choose the express lane with 12 items and a silent prayer that the cashier won’t notice your overflowing basket? Or do you brave the regular line, where the person in front of you inevitably pays with a checkbook and a five-minute story about their cat?

    My personal pet peeve? The people who wait until the very last second to even think about getting out their payment method. They stand there, oblivious, as the cashier rings up their fifteen thousand coupons and the line snakes back into the frozen food aisle. And then, with a casualness that borders on criminal, they say, “Oh, let me just find my wallet…”

    The Rules Are Made to Be Broken (Or at Least Bent a Little)

    Look, I get it. Grocery shopping is a necessary evil, and we all have our own ways of coping with the chaos. But maybe, just maybe, we can all agree to lighten up a little. So go ahead, grab that slightly bruised apple. Strike up a conversation with the person in line behind you (even if it’s just to complain about the lack of self-checkout lanes). And for the love of all that is holy, if you see someone struggling to reach the top shelf, offer them a hand (or, you know, climb on their shoulders and grab it for them – no judgment here).

    After all, life’s too short to stress about the unwritten rules of grocery store navigation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an abandoned shopping cart with my name on it.

    What are your biggest grocery store pet peeves (or, dare I ask, unspoken rules you love to break)? Share in the comments below!

  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and Why I Break Them All)






    The Day My Elevator Etiquette Died (and I Didn’t Care)

    It all started with a rogue sneeze. I was crammed into a stuffy elevator, sandwiched between a man who looked vaguely like he was about to announce a hostile corporate takeover and a woman delicately dabbing at her upper lip with a napkin. The sneeze hit me like a freight train, a full-body convulsion that probably rattled the fillings in everyone’s teeth. And you know what? It felt amazing.

    As I basked in the post-sneeze euphoria, I realized something profound: I had just broken one of the cardinal rules of elevator etiquette. I had acknowledged my fellow passengers’ existence. I had, dare I say, interacted with them. And the world hadn’t ended. In fact, the woman with the napkin actually cracked a smile.

    That, my friends, is when I decided to wage war on the oppressive silence of elevator rides. I became a self-proclaimed Elevator Rebel, committed to injecting a little humanity into these metal boxes of awkwardness.

    Elevator Etiquette Rule #1: Thou Shalt Not Make Eye Contact (Seriously?)

    This is Elevator Etiquette 101. You know the drill: eyes straight ahead, fixed on the glowing numbers above the door, pretending with all your might that you’re not hurtling through space in a metal box with a bunch of strangers.

    But here’s the thing: we’re all human. We all crave connection, even if it’s just a fleeting moment of shared amusement with a stranger over a particularly wonky elevator music rendition of “Despacito.” So I say, make eye contact! Offer a smile. You might be surprised at the positive ripple effects it can have.

    Elevator Etiquette Rule #2: The Sound of Silence (Unless We’re Talking Profits)

    Apparently, the only acceptable topics of conversation in an elevator are work-related and utterly devoid of personality. Heaven forbid you should mention the weather, your adorable new puppy, or the existential dread you feel when contemplating the vastness of the universe.

    I, however, am a firm believer in the power of small talk. I’ve had surprisingly delightful conversations in elevators about everything from the best local coffee shops to the latest season of “Stranger Things.” Sure, not every conversation will be a winner, but at least I’m not contributing to the soul-crushing silence.

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  • The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Folding Laundry

    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Folding Laundry




    The Surprisingly Deep Thoughts I Have While Folding Laundry


    We all have those tasks, the ones our brains seem hardwired to turn into autopilot. For me, it’s folding laundry. I swear, the minute my hands touch a warm, fresh-out-the-dryer towel, my mind goes on a tangent wilder than a toddler hopped up on juice boxes.

    The Great Sock Paradox

    Just yesterday, I was knee-deep in a mountain of mismatched socks. Seriously, where does the other sock go? Is there a sock monster living in my dryer, hoarding them for some nefarious sock-puppet show? As I frantically searched for the mate to a particularly fuzzy sock (you know the one, the kind that feels like a cloud decided to hug your foot), a terrifying thought hit me: What if I’m the sock monster in someone else’s life? What if, in some parallel universe, there’s a version of me lamenting the disappearance of a sock that’s currently chilling in my drawer, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis it’s causing?

    sock drawer the same way since.

    Life Lessons We Can Learn from a Fitted Sheet

    We’ve all been there. You triumphantly pull a fitted sheet out of the dryer, feeling like you’ve conquered some Herculean laundry task. But then, as you try to wrangle the unruly beast into submission, the frustration mounts. It’s like trying to fold a cloud while riding a unicycle—difficult, confusing, and slightly embarrassing.

    But the other day, mid-struggle with a particularly stubborn sheet, it hit me: Aren’t we all a bit like fitted sheets? We’re awkwardly shaped, prone to wrinkles, and sometimes it takes a bit of effort (and maybe some help from a patient friend) to get us looking somewhat presentable.

    Maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s the imperfections that make us interesting, the wrinkles that tell our stories. Or maybe I’m just trying to justify the fact that my linen closet looks like a fabric tornado ripped through it. Either way, it was a profound thought… for a Tuesday morning, while wrestling with bed linens.

    The Curious Case of the Missing Shirt Button

    This one’s a classic. You’re folding laundry, minding your own business, when BAM! You find it—a shirt button, lying there like a tiny, forgotten soldier separated from its regiment. And suddenly, you’re hit with a wave of questions:

    • When did this button stage its great escape?
    • Was it a dramatic leap of faith, or a slow, agonizing unraveling?
    • And most importantly, whose shirt is now one button closer to indecent exposure?
  • The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017 (and Why I Still Get Nervous Calls)

    The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017 (and Why I Still Get Nervous Calls)






    Have you ever had one of those days where you feel like you’re living in a sitcom? Where the universe seems to be playing a cosmic prank on you? Well, that was my life for a solid year, all thanks to The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2017.

    The Case of the Missing Pepperoni (and Other Phone Number Misadventures)

    It all started innocently enough. I needed a new phone number – you know, the usual adulting stuff. Little did I know, this seemingly mundane task would plunge me headfirst into a world of mistaken identities, hangry callers, and enough pizza-related inquiries to last a lifetime.

    My first clue that something was amiss came a few hours after activating my new number. The phone rang, and an enthusiastic voice boomed, “Yo, I need a large pepperoni, extra cheese, and hurry it up!”

    Papa Joe’s Pizzeria?”

    And so began my reign as the unwitting recipient of calls meant for Papa Joe’s, a once-thriving (judging by the call volume) pizza joint.

    The Pizza Pilgrims and Other Wrong Number Tales

    The calls were relentless. Hungry customers, delivery drivers seeking directions, even other pizza places wanting to borrow a cup of mozzarella – all found their way to my line. I quickly learned the Papa Joe’s menu by heart, could recite their delivery radius in my sleep, and even became somewhat of a connoisseur of pizza-related complaints (“Sir, I’m truly sorry, but I can’t help you with your undercooked crust”).

    One particularly memorable call involved a group of tourists who were convinced I was holding their deep-dish hostage. Apparently, they had placed an order at the old Papa Joe’s location (now a laundromat, according to my intel), and were on a mission to claim their cheesy prize. It took all my persuasive powers (and a Google Maps search) to convince them they were on a wild goose chase.

    Life After Papa Joe’s: Why I Still Answer the Phone with Caution

    Eventually, the calls dwindled. Papa Joe’s faded into urban legend, and my phone number became my own again. But the experience left its mark. Even today, years later, I still answer the phone with a hint of trepidation, half-expecting to hear, “Yeah, can I get two slices and a Coke?”