emotional demerit (n.): 1. a small penalty you give yourself when you do something mildly self-sabotaging but completely human. 2. observations, encounters, and everyday absurdities that are simply too ridiculous not to call out.
Thermal Neglect: Heat Transfer, Entropy, and a Deep Respect For a Properly Zipped Bag.
Result: Gelato melts, order collapses, and a polite rant is recorded for posterity.
I hand over my insulated freezer bag — the same overworked, lumpy, zippered tote that seems to be holding not just groceries but also my unresolved angst. A small gesture toward being an adult who plans ahead and respects perishables — and every week, the grocery clerks overstuff it with non-frozen items. Lesser Evil popcorn, a baguette, and paper towels! As if the bag’s purpose is not to preserve cold things but to test the limits of my emotional restraint.
I try to be gracious. I tell myself they’re just doing their job, that not everyone can intuit the delicate physics of ice cream logistics. But still, I glare at the bag on the counter — bulging, smug, pointless — and feel the week’s frustrations pool in that unzippable gap.
“Do you need another bag?”
Um…Yes? Yes, yes, I actually do.
Because this is a freezer bag, it zips. That’s the whole point. I live 25 minutes away, and I’d prefer my gelato not collapse into a sad puddle of regret before I get home. And also, this is the tropics. It’s 98 degrees currently.
I don’t understand. What’s missing here? Basic grocery IQ. This isn’t quantum physics. It’s just: don’t fill the cold bag past its zipper when there are perishables involved. I shouldn’t have to say this every time like I’m delivering a TED Talk on thermal management at checkout.
The Experiment
Lately, I’ve been experimenting. Trying different clerks, different chain stores.Tracking the zip vs. no-zip ratio. It’s become a small-scale social science project, except the data makes me want to scream.
FYI: you know who gets it right every time? Trader Joe’s. Oh yes. The land of Hawaiian shirts and emotional stability. The clerks there zip the freezer bag and — wait for it — put the dry stuff in a separate bag. Almost too much to handle. I always thank them, of course, and make sure they know they’re the only ones who zip my bag.
“We’re not a Florida company,” said one clerk with a cheeky smile. I nodded solemnly.
The P Word
While other chains may make a half-hearted attempt to insulate – like the Sprouts “half-zip”, Publix is a repeat offender with 100% zip failure. Entropy wins, BOGO gelato melts. This Florida-born, every-third-block empire is bright, efficient, and smells like Disney and financial regret. You walk in thinking you’ll grab just a few things. You walk out with a bag of $9 bag of chips and a $28 small frozen pizza. Convenience!
Once famous for its “Buy One, Get One” (which I would call just normal-priced items), Publix has evolved into “BTGOF” — Buy Three at a Ridiculous Price, Get One 50% Off — a deal that challenges Florida’s math illiterati, and anyone seduced by friendly smiles, Kelly-green polos, and comfort lighting. But behind that gleaming processed-meat counter lurks a polite racketeering underbelly, overstuffed bags, and a shocking disregard for the laws of insulation.
Florida: The Extra Melting Point
Of course, all of this happens in Florida, where “heat index” is a polite way of saying “you’re slowly dying.” This state is a sauna run by alligators and developers, where pants are optional and pedestrians loiter in medians for reasons unknown.
So no, I’m not being difficult.
I’m a person trying to maintain the integrity of frozen waffles and my sanity- in a state that regularly says, “Hold my beer (and my pants),” while actively conspiring against the zipper.
Maybe a mini course on thermal physics for new baggers? Bagger’s Oath: first do no harm: don’t let the coffee chip gelato melt.
TL;DR:
Please, just zip the bag. “Common sense shouldn’t be pricier than my melting coffee‑chip gelato as I stand here explaining thermal physics.
Would’ve made a great Seinfeld episode.
