Lileks: Mary Tyler Moore was on to something

In the later years of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," our heroine was shopping at a Red Owl ...

Hold on, I just lost everyone under 30. Let me explain. There was a grocery store chain whose logo was a large, intense owl head. It was looking at you as if it expected that you'd pop a few grapes in your mouth without paying.

"The Mary Tyler Moore Show" was a 1970s TV series set in Minneapolis. Mary — the name of both the star and the character she played — was a single gal who worked in a TV newsroom, and although the theme song said she was "going to make it after all," she eventually was fired. Got it? OK.

In the opening credits, Mary tosses a shrink-wrapped tray of meat into her Red Owl grocery cart, rolling her eyes with exaggerated frustration. Today, someone seeing this for the first time must wonder: What's with the drama queen routine? But it made sense at a time of inflation and meat shortages. We were all Mary. "Can't believe what this costs," her expression said, "but everyone's coming over for Veal Prince Orloff, what are you going to do?"

We are at that MTM-Red Owl point again. Everything at the grocery store is more expensive, and we all wander around with our carts, noting the prices, wincing, remembering when a pound of hamburger cost the same as two 50-cent gallons of gas. Now it costs the same as two $3.50 gallons of gas.

I was at a popular red-themed retailer the other day, doing the weekly provisions run, noting what was out and what was back. Paper towels are available in patterns again. They vanished during the pandemic, as if to say, "These are hard, grim times, and we've no room for floral frivolities. Now we're back!" Hurrah, I guess.

The Halloween department was full. Every year, I have the same thoughts: I should buy the candy now, so I don't have to scramble on Oct. 30, and we end up disappointing the kids because we have nothing but weird third-tier candy. Jorts! Malted Kelp Balls! Gizzard-Stix! Nah, they never run out.

The decorations aisle was well stocked with severed skulls, as well, because heaven forfend you don't get in the holiday mood and festoon the house with decapitated heads as soon as October clicks into gear. Granted, I'm not a big Halloween fan. But then, being 5 feet 4, I'm not a big anything.

At the end of the trip, I hit the meat department and did the MTM expression when I tossed some steak in the cart, hoping someone watching the security cameras got the reference.

"Hey, look at that guy, he's doin' the old Mary Tyler ... OHHH, my lumbago."

Off to self-checkout. I had forgotten my reusable bags, which was just as well; they need a good cleaning, what with all the meat leakage. (Which reminds me: I saw Meat Leakage open for The Cramps at the Entry in '84.)

There's usually a wall of paper bags — good, sturdy bags that can handle two jugs of juice without ripping. But there were no bags. I asked a clerk for bags, and she said she would send someone to get them. Walkie-talkies crackled all over the store: "Customer needs bags in south checkout. Who is responding?"

I hear this all the time on their employee PA system. "Who is responding?" It's a rather bleak cry into the void, and sums up your darkest moments. Man faces the blank expanse of an uncertain future, a tableau lashed with lightning and the indistinct shapes of onrushing fate, wondering where he can find meaning in a world that seems chaotic and random. Who is responding?

No one responded. I waited a while. Tried tapping my toe, just to show how unacceptable this was. You know things are serious when Minnesotans start tapping their toes. "Whoa, back away, that guy might blow."

I don't want to sound like an entitled First-Worlder who's never known true hardship, partly because I am an entitled First-Worlder who's never known true hardship and I don't want to sound like it, but c'mon. Eventually I found another Guest Facilitator, or whatever they call themselves these days, and asked if they had any paper bags.

"No. None. Zero," she said. "Supply chain problems."

I wanted to say, "You have 60 plastic skulls in the back but no paper bags?" But I didn't, because I'd already crossed a line with that conspicuous toe-tapping. Besides, I believed her. I hear that from everyone. I've been trying to replace an oven for nine months. Supply chain problems. I know a guy who couldn't get a basic door for a home improvement project; supply chain problems. If your job is supplying chains, you probably have supply chain problems.

We all can use this excuse now. Wife asks if I'd done that thing. Sorry, supply chain problems. Get pulled over for speeding? Sorry, backup with the supply chain.

I just looked online for "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" DVDs. Estimated delivery: 10-16 weeks. Backup in the supply chain. I rolled my eyes and threw them in the virtual cart.

james.lileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 • Twitter: @Lileks • facebook.com/james.lileks