How Moving the Peanut Butter Became My Cardio Routine

One rule that's always certain is that everything changes, and nothing will remain the same. This is true in general life, work, and, of course, grocery stores.

A grocery store is not just a place to shop—it's a labyrinth designed to test your patience. They say grocery shopping builds character. Well, it sure builds mine—mostly rage. I have been finding this out the hard way as of late since my beloved HEB is in the middle of a remodel or a re-arrangement at the very least. It's as if they handed the store's contents to a 4-year-old, had them shake all the products in a bucket, and then spilled it on the floor.

At least toddlers are honest about their chaos. Grocery stores pretend it's all intentional. You want breadcrumbs? Let's put them next to the cat food this week. The longer you wander, the more likely you will accidentally buy artisanal kale chips. I don't know that I could positively identify kale in a police line-up, and that might actually be a good thing.

They moved the bread so you'd wander past the fancy cheeses, and apparently, canned pumpkin is now where the coffee filters used to be. Sure, the milk's in the back, but that's so you pass every snack in the store before you get there. You come in for spaghetti noodles but leave with scented candles and three kinds of cheese you can't pronounce.

Last time, I couldn't find the peanut butter, but at least I found a Himalayan salt lamp I didn't know I needed.

I try to have patience, and I call all the saints for help. There was a time in my life when I was the aggressor in this adventure. I was one of the people who shuffled all of these products to different places each night, causing mass confusion among Southern Californian shoppers.

Now, the shoe is on the other foot, and I'm less than amused with the fit.

For many moons, the humble grocery list has worked without fail. It is easy; items appear on the paper as they are arranged in the store. But now it's no longer the same.

We all know that grocery shopping is part of life's ritual. Grocery store quirks are the price of feeding a household—and having stories to tell about it. The frustration of a moved item is a small price to pay for the joys of an overstocked pantry.

The Boomers remember when stores were sensible—when peanut butter wasn't called organic artisan spread. They long for the old days when grocery stores were logical—before avocado toast needed its own aisle. If you ever needed to draw from a mental map of the store, these are the folks who have it.

Speaking of avocado toast, Millenials rely on Google Maps to find tahini, only to learn it's been moved next to the motor oil. It's the ones that want to convince you that motor oil belongs in the baking aisle that you have to worry about.

Gen Z phones it in at this point. They Instacart everything, so they're blissfully unaware of grocery store purgatory. The biggest obstacle they face is when the picture looks right, but they get celery instead of cilantro.

My own beloved Gen X just sighs, and we decide to buy wine instead. It can even be cheap vino; we don't care anymore. I'm not convinced that we ever did to begin with. Wine is fruit. It has its own food group and a few thousand years of nutritional relevance.

Meanwhile, the Silent Generation probably still knows where the lard is.

No matter how well you execute your list, you'll end up with one single item left over. The one thing you need for dinner tonight is the thing the store decided to put in the witness protection program. It's never something boring like toilet paper or bananas, but it's always something critical for your recipe.

Pumpkin spice is everywhere in October, but good luck finding chili powder in January. No Worcestershire sauce? Guess we're having California meatloaf tonight. I have been on that quest for chili powder before. It's not the thrill you'd imagine. I went down the spice aisle, then the sauce aisle, then the 'random stuff we hope you buy' aisle. Nothing.

First, you've got to find an employee who isn't pretending to stock shelves. Whatever their response is, it will initially be vague: "It's either in Aisle 5 or Aisle 47." They always say, "It’s on Aisle 5," but Aisle 5 is a black hole where hope goes to die. For now, Aisle 5 is some otherworldly variant of Tupperware, and Aisle 47 is now Preparation H. You decide what end you want to work with, the input or the output.

Once you break down in a hissy fit of tears and loathing that grants one the new name of Karen or Kevin, they finally lead you to the item, which is in the most illogical place possible.

Oh, I was supposed to check the frozen food section for breadcrumbs? That makes perfect sense. Finally, having the item, or something similar, ends up being half of the battle.

I felt like Indiana Jones, except instead of an ancient idol, I was holding a box of paprika. Cue the dramatic music. I only found that because I had stopped one of the store shoppers from the grocery department. She told me it was near the international foods, which is grocery store code for "good luck". We live in Texas. Everything is international here.

The grocery store giveth, and the grocery store taketh away—usually the stuff that actually tastes good. They never hide the lima beans. They only mess with the stuff you actually want, like cinnamon rolls or taco seasoning.

Grocery shopping is not just a chore—it's an adventure. And if you can't find what you're looking for, just do what I do: buy snacks and hope for the best. I couldn't find the rice vinegar, but I found a 24-pack of Oreos on sale. Is that a win-win?

So the next time you find yourself in Aisle 7 wondering where the hell they've put the olives, remember: it's not you; it's the grocery store gods testing your resolve.