Shopping For Humanity

What if you could end suffering by purchasing one box of pink popcorn? Would you buy it? 

If you answered “no” you’re clearly an unfeeling, reptilian sociopath with absolutely no regard for others. What’s wrong with you? Can’t shell out three dollars to end world hunger? Haven’t you seen the commercials of sad children with glistening eyes? I guess you just don’t care. People like you disgust me. How can you look at yourself in the mirror? You selfish fuck. Unlike you, I think a lot about the state of the world and how my actions affect mankind. I’m a good person. In fact, when I look down my nose at those who don’t make other people’s problems their business, I know that my erect ego is justified because it throbs for humanity. The struggle for a better world will not wilt as long as I can toss symbolic tokens at those in need without directly inconveniencing myself. This world needs a hero. It’s time to get active and get involved!

I’m going grocery shopping. 

The first thing I notice as I enter the store is a crying child with a skinned knee. I laugh for several minutes until my attention returns to the matter at hand. The next item of interest hits my senses like an adrenaline injection - wine that cares. Ordinarily I prefer my wine in a jug, but this isn’t about getting drunk and gluing pictures of animal genitalia to the store’s greeting cards. I’m on a mission to help people. This bottle of compassion will show the world that I’m a caring person and rub my refined palate in the faces of cretins getting hammered on mouthwash. Almost as important as my spiteful intentions is the wine’s humble altruism. It’s not enough to toss change at causes; people have to know. Advertising your humanity and pimping weak people’s sympathies is how we’re going to change the world. 

If I’m going to guzzle empathetic booze nectar I’ll need something to wash all the care out of my mouth the next morning. Only unwashed guttersnipes get their water out of the sink. In a civilized society we drink from a sealed container. As with everything else, however, luxury is not enough. I don’t just want my water to replenish me while elevating my socioeconomic status above an Ecuadorian dirt farmer; I want my water to save the world. Only a brand named after one of the three artistic proofs can satiate my thirst for a better tomorrow. If anyone had a strong moral compass it was the Greeks. Look at how much they loved children. It would be foolish and cynical to think this company would simply tack a name on a bottle without living up to the implied ethics of that name. Five cents for every one dollar and eighty cent bottle sold goes to help clean water sources in poor countries. That’s a mammoth nine percent! I think I’ll buy two bottles. Those poverty stricken third worlders can now drink easier with my ten cents floating their way. 

When I reached the frozen starch aisle I remembered dinner was on the list. A box from the food igloo informed me that the east coast was plagued by a light drizzle of rain. Luckily, someone’s doing something about it. Proceeds from the frozen cheese noodles provide citizens with cheddar pasta from a lunch truck. I think it’s so fitting and appropriate that mac n’ cheese is being fed to all the downtrodden souls on the other side of the country. When noodles soak too long they become limp and flavorless and I suspect that’s how many of those people felt when Splash Mountain erupted in their cities. It’s not fun to taste rubbery. That’s why we pat the heads of the new homeless and fill their tummies with processed love. The truth may be there in the morning, but tonight we can feel good about ourselves. We did something that will result in a photo shoot of smiling noodle-kaboodlers wrapped in blankets. If only we could help them with their atrocious accents. 

Dinner may be acquired, but breakfast still needs to be taken care of. We eat candy for breakfast at my house. Where can I find something sweet for myself and all of mankind? My ethical dilemma is answered when I approached the next aisle. Candy for a cause. Fun and delicious aren’t validated based on their own merits. They need to stand for something. The candy I buy is going to build homes for people. Don’t question the necessity of building new, low-grade domiciles when there are so many empty houses. Being altruistic means never questioning anything. Warm hearts are building candy coated homes for the less fortunate. How could anyone question that? If we strive for universal charity we can have gumdrop chimneys and chocolate foundations. I want to live in Candyland. Don’t you?

Let’s see - we’ve got alcohol, water, dinner and candy covered. I’m going to eat it all at once, vomit into a plastic container and see if I can start new life by letting it sit in the sun for a week. All scientific benefits will of course be donated to the most fashionable cause being clicked on and reposted by internet dullards. My recipe for a new culture is not close to being complete though. I need something that moves in a static state. The experiment requires a substance that will cause a reaction among the formula’s other variables. I need soda. My opportunity to save the human race is only ten feet away. Some shaky old man obstructs my path so I knock him to the floor. Make way for compassion old man! I’m trying help people! The can tells me that it’s helping polar bears and I feel a little disappointed. Just kidding! I don’t have feelings. At that moment I realized that I could be getting in on the beginning of a new charity for a new humanity. Make no mistake, the ice caps will melt because of nocturnal wombats emitting helium into the atmosphere. Polar bears will naturally surf their way into our cities. People, being debased perverts that I’m nevertheless trying to help, will have sex with them, leading to a new bi-species population. Polar bears may not be people yet, but in the future I’d like their halfbreed offspring to know that I helped out by drinking carbonated syrup water. 

As I make my way through the snack aisle I see cluster of menacing tortilla chips wearing matching bags. After talking to one of the bags it’s made clear to me that the chips in question help gang members and ex-cons go straight. “Jobs not Jails,” the bag tells me. By eating chips and salsa I can make it possible for these troubled people to find an emotionally nurturing turf and remove tattoos of numbers from their flesh. I’m sure these sensitive and inkless ex-bangers will have no problem making the transition in a thriving economy full of pyramid schemes and part-time only job opportunities. How could it go wrong? The program was founded by a priest. Maybe God spoke to him through a vat of flour. I’ve had existential revelations while watching home shopping channels, so I can believe that God the Almighty Sky Goblin spoke to the priest. If it’s not reason enough to help gangs change out of their adorable matching outfits consider this - a tree grows in Mexico every time the Virgin Mary bites into a tortilla chip. 

Interestingly enough, it’s not just the food I eat that goes towards helping people. All two of my friends and family members can tell you that I like to walk around with loose cereal in my pockets. This is so I have something to throw in homeless people’s faces when they ask me for change. I follow this up by shouting “Let them eat flakes!” It costs a pretty penny considering all the cup-rattlers here in La-La Land, but I suppose happiness has its price. I was turning the aisle when I saw a boxed solution. My good times can finally have a good cause behind them. Now every box of cereal I buy can go to a company that helps children eat breakfast. Apparently people in the world care whether or not kids are happy and healthy. I find this notion baffling, but if I’m to erect an image of myself as a kind humanitarian I have no choice. I must listen to the empty words repeated and conditioned by the masses and go along with it. If children have to eat so I can pat myself on the back, so be it. 

I pass the food igloos once again because I refuse to travel unless it’s in circles. Out of the corner of my eye I spy a bucket of hippy ice cream. Normally I would never purchase a hippy product because hippies are children of fungus and have poor hygiene. Besides, I can always mix LSD in regular ice cream and share it with the seniors at the old folks home. In this case I’ll make an exception. The tub of hippy cream in question is paying lip service to gay marriage. If you made a joke out of the previous sentence you’re a backward-minded homophobe that shouldn’t be allowed to breathe in a progressive society. When I see discrimination, I do something about it. How could I possibly witness wiener-whistlers and clam-kissers having a hard time and not eat ice cream?

On my way to the check out line I see a bottle of juice sitting on a loaf of bread. Damn businesses cutting back on employees! It takes half an hour to pay for your groceries and now we have squished bread! Where will it end? Right as I was gearing up to wallop the manager with monkey bread I noticed it was no ordinary juice. This elixir spreads the goodness by planting shrubbery, fighting tit-rot and helping people on islands where the ground dances. My shopping experience became a religious experience as I reflected on all the people who will lead better lives because of my juice purchase. The thankful masses of tomorrow will write songs about my endless generosity and compassion. 

As I ride the grocery cart to my car I can’t help but wonder how many movies future generations will make based on my selfless exploits. Somewhere in the future a monk sheds a single tear because he’s looking at a mural of my face. Will they know that my sacrifice of half a Saturday was all for them or will they think that I did it for present day humanity? Only time will tell. I was considering writing a letter detailing my endless generosity to the Nobel Prize committee when I was approached by a homeless man. He belted out a make-believe sob story about being a wounded veteran. I couldn’t believe the gall of this man! Here I am, with a basket of proof that all the world’s problems have gone away and he thinks he can scam me out of money. I had to interrupt him halfway through his grift. 

“Pardon me sir,” I said, gesturing to my cart, “I don’t mean to be rude, but how dare you make up such a ridiculous story! Can’t you see by my cart that the world is now a better place for everyone?”

He looked at me with a blank stare. The truth always stops liars and charlatans in their tracks. 

“And furthermore,” I said, “I’m highly offended that you took the plot from “Apocalypse Now” and tried to pass it off as your life. People died in that movie. Show some respect!”

With that said I got in my car and left him staring at the sun. The nerve of some people! Sometimes I can’t believe that someone would try to take advantage of others, especially after I’ve created a utopia at the supermarket. I’m sure the rest of humanity will cheer my good deeds almost as much as I have. Most people will appreciate the hard work and sacrifices I made today. They will know that in a world of problems I and my grocery list were the solution. 

You’re welcome.