It did catch me by surprise, but ultimately it didn't surprise me. Field observations now clearly indicate: the old Safeway is back.

The old Safeway was "sketch central," a realm of questionable personages and inconsistent service. The store itself dated to the early '50s, an unadorned glass-fronted box - Bauhaus without passion, but with a half-century's caked-on grime and moldy fogbloom. Staff were typically pleasant enough but one quarter cheek short of half-assed. It was understocked and dingy.  I couldn't always avoid shopping there, but I did my best.

At length the old Safeway closed itself up like a dirty little caterpillar in a gleaming chrysalis of construction material, from which there emerged about a year later a beautiful butterfly of a neighborhood supermarket. 

In the meantime, I'd grown used to shopping elsewhere. New groceries had opened and I'd discovered some old ones I hadn't tried before. And with the produce markets and fishmongers and cheese boutiques and bakeries around here, I lacked for nothing that could be bought in stores. But I gave the new Safeway a chance, and I must say I liked it fine. At first, anyway.  It had plentiful produce and fragrant baked goods and lots of aisles full of things I actually shop for. Lighting was indirect and flattering, and it didn’t smell funny. The old Safeway was gone. Long live the new Safeway.

However, over time the sheen of novelty and convenience began to wear thin for me. The parking lot was cramped and the planned big-name coffee bar at the deli counter got 86'ed by nervous neighbors. I grew increasingly glad that I didn't have to visit the new Safeway too often. It was nice enough but it wasn't going to change my life. It was just the new Safeway, and it was enough for me that it wasn't the old Safeway. But some things, as it turns out, resist change. 

Early one Sunday morning I was preparing to head out to a picnic for which I needed a variety of comestibles. Given the range of things I needed, the new Safeway was the efficient choice. Parking was easily accomplished (for once) and I stepped hopefully into the wood-paneled, climate-controlled retail floor, grabbing myself a nice clean handbasket in good condition. I was well-breakfasted, in a good mood, and ready to shop. Then, suddenly, things started seeming strangely familiar - perhaps excessively so.

The first thing I noticed was that one of the staff seemed to be going off. He was walking around quickly and energetically, grinning and sweaty, voice too loud and a little hoarse. He was cheering on his co-workers, exhorting them, calling them out rather too enthusiastically, waving his hands and arms around a lot. This guy seems to be on drugs, I thought to myself. It seemed early on a Sunday to be so tweaked out, but that's the way it goes sometimes. As he strode around, a gaunt assistant manager with a striped necktie and a dyspeptic grimace on his pale face paced nervously in the general vicinity, sporadically buttonholing other staff and giving them brief, terse instructions. Of the two, frankly, it was the manager who sort of freaked me out. 

The tweaked-out stockboy wound up storming off into the stock area behind swinging double doors, and troubled me no more. I put him out of my mind, for the time being at least. My shopping was swiftly accomplished and soon enough I found myself at the checkout lanes. There were fourteen marked aisles, of which two were open. Not a great sign, I thought as I stepped to the lane marked "express" and stood in a line of three or four shoppers. It looked like I might be waiting for a while but I was going to relax and enjoy it. Everything was going to be mellow at the new Safeway. This was my mantra.

That's when I noticed that the checker up front was doing math by hand for an elderly customer, on the back of his receipt. This made me a little antsy. We're all standing around while this guy quibbles over pennies? Has he no respect for us? I urged myself to cool down a little. Take a breath, dude. The new Safeway will abide. 

The checker seemed anxious, uncertain. Familiar, too. I was sure I knew her from somewhere. I peeked over my shoulder to check out the other checker in the aisle behind me and had to smirk - she was definitely familiar. They were both crew members from the staff of the old Safeway. I hadn't seen either of them since the new Safeway opened, but I recognized their humorless scowls, their hollow eyes. I remembered the neighbor checker distinctly. Back in the day, we used to banter. She looked preoccupied, so I didn't say hello. I doubted she'd remember me anyway.

It felt like it took forever for my checker to finish her calculations for the old guy at the head of my line; the next customer tried to be more efficient but still kept us waiting a long time. The other, non-express, lane was moving faster. The creepy manager suddenly appeared off my flank and announced with a voice like packing tape, "I'll take the next in line over here." Two people in front of me shifted over with tangible gratitude; my troubled checker seemed flustered by this development but at least I could lay out my groceries on the belt. Things were proceeding slowly but at least I was closer to the action. Anyway, it seemed to be an improvement.

Eventually it was my turn. I performed with maximum efficiency, answered the checker's superfluous questions succinctly.  I thought I was doing okay. I looked back over the line behind me; it was long and longsuffering. In front, just behind me, stood a young woman, blonde, vibrant, good looking. She threw me a wink. A wink? I don't see many of those, and this woman was good at it. What did it mean? How should I respond? Shocked, I tried to reciprocate but I think I just exhibited some kind of facial spasm and then grinned stupidly. Not so suave, Dan. She grinned back indulgently. My transaction finally complete, I took my receipt and reached for my sack. I was charged with strange emotions and very ready to leave.

But not so fast - the blonde cutie behind me is asking where's her maple syrup, the lone item she was there to purchase, now mysteriously missing. The checker, reconsternated, admits confusion. She thought I was buying it; now it seems I've bought and paid for it. I need to get a refund; she begins to process the paperwork. Once again, it's slow going. I try to speak to the syrup woman, telling her how I had noticed her syrup earlier and how it had reminded me how good it was to have had plenty of it at home for the fluffy pancakes I'd already enjoyed that morning. I hope to smooth things over and make some light conversation but Syrup Woman seems suddenly strangely anxious so I lay off. 

I take my cash refund from the ingratiatingly apologetic checker, stuff the bills in my wallet, grab my bulging sack and head out. I toss one last parting glance to Syrup Woman but she is looking assiduously elsewhere. I head out through the new sliding doors into the same old parking lot in the same old neighborhood, as I've done so many times in years past. The old Safeway is back, I think to myself. And welcome to it, for better or worse.