OR so the line goes — well after I embellished it a little — but perhaps it is somewhat more apt than the one which lauds the site as the answer to all our shopping needs minus all the hassle. Driving home one day — rather being driven — you know what I am getting at — as my driver negotiated the busy mid-day traffic on the Ship Roundabout in Jeddah, I happened to notice the advert that said: zgrocer.com — convenience@reasonable prices. I thought we had really advanced in this country; we could rival any Western country — with our ability to be so lazy and never need to leave the house to do something as mundane as shopping — well it was near enough to what I thought!
For the next week, the advert seemed to taunt me, every time I passed that roundabout as though daring me to try, to connect and check them out. Finally, I succumbed...
More mouth-watering than a checkout display stand, the website slowly unfolded before my eyes, with striking colors to dazzle any browser. Every possible item of shopping was categorized alphabetically. A gift basket from Goody awaited first-time shoppers; there were discounts on a range of items and if that was not tempting enough, look who else was contributing their fare! A large American donut chain, Winchell’s, and a very well-known roaster. If for a moment I had thought that I could avoid the temptations of every bad food listed on my personal e-diet.com menu, by shopping on the Internet — those hopes came crashing down around my keyboard. With the frenzy of one who had heard the starting gun at the races, I dashed into each category, the mouse in my hand, clicking at a ferocious speed — faster than the check-out clerks at Star Market before they got those bar-codes to work... and then things began to slow down. I had slammed into several potholes on the information superhighway. Somewhere around 8.30 p.m. every youth in the Kingdom decided to check out what was happening on the Net. The lights on my modem hardly blinked, however much I implored them to. Instead they stared at me with the unblinking gaze of an owl. I would spend five minutes looking at the banner headline of the page... until the company’s motto of convenience@lower prices began to dance before my eyes.
Doggedly determined, I kept on going until I arrived, exhausted and frazzled, at the check-out counter; hmmm kind of like the feeling you have when you have made your way around the supermarket, dodging other shoppers who blocked the way, dealing with the macho sales clerks at the deli counter, the lewd glances from male shoppers and the kid who gleefully insisted on putting things in your trolley... need I go on?
Unmoved from my aim of seeing it through to the end, I found out that I had missed the minimum order by SR30. As I was getting ready to tear my hair out, my husband came to the rescue, asking if I had bought his monthly supply of razors. Ahhh salvation; renegotiating the aisles, I came upon the selection of razors, none of which cost less than the required SR30. Hmmm suspicious? I was finally ready to leave, my hands aching, my head hurt and my eyes watering. I requested a delivery time, lunchtime the next day and gave out my delivery details. I had finished. I looked at the clock on the monitor and it showed 10.30 p.m.
“The new era of grocery shopping is here in the Kingdom. Finally you can buy groceries online in the comfort of your own home or office. Forget about squeaky cart wheels, busy parking lots, long frustrating lines at check-outs and, worst of all, hot humid weather. Order now and we will deliver your groceries to your doorsteps. Give it a try; it is so easy.”
Perhaps the owners hadn’t counted on the local Internet connection hampering this beautiful, glorious new shopping experience or perhaps if we had been in the UK or the US, things would have been different. On the other hand, in either of those countries, the major source of entertainment for a family is not an evening spent pushing a cart around the supermarket buying useful and useless items while munching on a hot fresh baked “mankousha” from the supermarket’s oven and sipping a cold Coke afterward!
My husband cries out from the living room, “We’re out of Pringles! How about a trip to the supermarket?”
I’m coming! Just let me get my abaya.
