“Where the Heck is the Chipotle Mayochup?”

One important I’ve learned this year is that there’s no universal standard for setting up grocery stores. Typically it’s not something I concern myself with as I’m the one sitting in the truck watching the dog as Donelle runs in to do the shopping. Every now and then, however, my big mouth gets me in trouble.

I volunteered to run to town somewhere along thee eastern seaboard. I think it was rural North Carolina but the states and the order of campgrounds is a bit difficult to keep straight. With Donelle back at the camper, and the hunter/gatherer in a pitched battle to find dinner I found myself standing in an aisle with all of the condiments. It was an impressive spectrum with mayo on one end and extended to teriyaki all the way down on the other. I’m no expert on strategic merchandising but this aisle was amazing in both volume and variety.  But all I wanted was Chipotle Mayochup.

Fifteen minutes into my efforts to find the elusive prey I could sense the bus of defeat headed my way. I felt like I was on an episode of Alone, dropped off into the wilderness and left to my own ingenuity to survive. There is a deeply ingrained drive to “Never Give Up” but even that was being challenged.

I was the new dad trying to figure out how to swaddle a newborn into a diaper. I was the lost and wandering aimlessly pre-google father forsaking a stop to ask for directions. I was the fearless do-it-yourselfer and home repair weekend professional who once ripped installation instructions from my son’s hands … “We don’t need instructions! How hard can it be?!?”

I will admit to two separate calls to the home office for clarification and precise description of the bottle of dipping sauce. And yet, my efforts bore no fruit. Though I did see a bottle of hot peach bourbon barbecue sauce that grabbed my attention and provided more than a minutes worth of unwanted distraction.

I’m reluctant to admit but I did finally throw in the towel and tracked down a teenager stocking produce in the far corner of the store. She’d never heard of my quarry and a quick look on her google box did indeed confirm that no such item existed on the shelves. 

Defeated and deflated I made my third call back to the home office. I suppose I was just trying to buffer the look of disappointment upon my empty-handed return. I eased into the predicament by saying, “You know how you can never find western dressing in certain parts of the country?” The sous chef provided me with a list of alternate ingredients to create something worthy of dipping that evenings tator tots. A new search commenced! 

I already had a pretty good idea of the stores inventory so I didn’t think it would take too long. I was actually excited to pass by that tempting bottle of peach-bourbon bbq sauce again. Since we had already spent so much time together it ended up in the cart. And then, with a slight glow of light illuminating it, I found a bottle of Mayo on the second shelf. From off to my right in a sea of red I grabbed a bottle of ketchup. Mission complete.  Mayochup will be mine!