I am a creature of habit.
I refuse to acknowledge that this has anything to do with age. And it's not that I don't like to experience exciting new things in life. I was one of the first to try out the BTS when it first opened, and I try my hand at cooking new dishes once in a while. I'll try anything once.
But sometimes I just like to stick to the tried and true. And that includes grocery shopping.
For me, the most important factors in choosing a particular supermarket are prices, parking, size (small) and variety of products, not necessarily in that order. Another factor is noise. Sometimes prices at one supermarket may be a bit higher, but if I can shop in relative comfort and buy all I need, I might be persuaded to pay a little more.
I used to enjoy shopping at a department store supermarket not far from my house. I had reason to pass by every Saturday or Sunday morning, and it was convenient to get my weekly shopping done on my way home. Because it was in a department store, I could also fit in any other shopping I needed (or didn't need, for that matter) — clothes, make-up, shoes, stationery, presents or even ready-to-eat food and snacks. A privilege card also meant a slight discount, which made me feel great about shopping there.
I also favour a stand-alone supermarket, part of a chain that has a branch near my house. It's small enough to walk through comfortably, carries all I need and the prices are unbeatable.
I'm the sort of person who cringes at hypermarkets. I dislike the supersize trolleys, the looming aisles that go on forever and massive shelves encroaching on either side.
I hate having to manoeuvre a trolley around looking for a particular product, not to mention the feeling of disorientation when I can't find what I want.
I can't stand it when I'm scrutinising the shelves and unwittingly trigger a sensor, causing me to hear a voice similar to that of a popular monk telling me I should buy a particular brand of noodles (or toilet cleaner). It's positively spooky.
I will run a mile if there is a special promotion for discounted chicken wings announced over a loudspeaker by a pretty girl wearing too much lipstick, complete with luk thung music in the background.
So yes, I'm very particular when it comes to grocery shopping.
That's why I was disappointed when one of my favourite supermarkets was recently given a makeover. The changes were obvious the moment you stepped into the lift and noticed that the floor numberings had changed.
Once in the supermarket, I immediately sensed its new ambience, an upmarket glow like that of a spotty young graduate who has invested in facial sculpting treatments, eye and nose surgery, lip Botox and big-eyed contact lenses. She looks good, yet it's a sterile kind of beauty that lacks individuality.
Admittedly the trolleys were smaller and easier to manoeuvre, and they didn't give you an electric shock every time you touched the metal casing. But the aisles had also shrunk to a certain extent. The shelves were similarly laid out, yet with many changes based on a logic I couldn't yet understand.
And the products had gone upmarket, most significantly in terms of price. Disappointed, I checked out my modest selection and headed straight to my friendly neighbourhood supermarket chain.
It's just a notch more systematic than a mom-and-pop store, with the lady in charge very conspicuously giving directions to her team, running the show with an iron fist. The piped-in music is not intrusive. The products are fresh, the prices are a good value and there is no long queue at the checkout counter.
It's not that I don't like change — I've just moved into a new house. I absolutely love new clothes and shoes, and a new car wouldn't do me any harm. But as for routine and practical aspects of life, I like to keep things simple, like a pair of old but comfy pyjamas.
Change is inevitable, I suppose. But I like my supermarket — and my pyjamas — just the way they are.
Usnisa Sukhsvasti is the features editor of the Bangkok Post.