Watching a fellow shopper in the grocery store checkout aisle is a revelation of their palate and a hint of their health. I’m certain anthropologists have studied this communal phenomenon, the perusal of a fellow shopper’s victuals—you know, rubbernecking to see what the person in front of you is buying—because it’s a sociological foible we all possess. Perhaps it’s just a quick glance at the magazines or the candy to cover your intrusion, but yes, we all do it. It’s an innate curiosity entwined in our DNA. In fact, it likely evolved from our Neanderthal ancestors who were always surveying the rations of their fellow tribal members to ensure their own survival—I guess one could say it’s a form of Neanderthalian ritual that has endured and been interposed into the twenty-first century.

But you get the idea, and yes, you’ve done it. Come on, fess up, just admit it, it’s like visiting a psychotherapist and suddenly realizing everyone does what you do and you’re not so odd after all—it’s downright liberating. And besides, you can always blame it on the Neanderthals.

Feel better? Good. But it’s a custom that merits discussion, particularly one with such quirks and oddities.

For example, I’m certain that the number of people in a store affects our selection of products. If the store has few patrons, it’s easier to buy that bag of potato chips and six pack of sugared sodas, but when it’s crowded and the checkout lines clogged, we may think it best to forgo a display of our most intimate and unhealthy preferences. Or if we just crave that high-fat, high-calorie, artery-clogging bag of cheese bits and nacho chips, and our grocery store has a self-checkout counter, we’ll linger and pretend we’re considering those high-protein, low-fat chips that taste like cardboard until no one is around, at which time we’ll make a mad dash to the self-checkout aisle, scan the product’s barcode, and quickly place it in a bag to protect us from the sylphlike athlete/anorexic that just arrived moments after our covert purchase.

Then there’s the fear of public humiliation. If there’s a svelte salad-chomping, BPA-free bottled water do-gooder in front of us, placing our groceries on the conveyor belt is like walking nude through the streets of Manhattan screaming, “Here I am, folds in my abdomen, cellulite in my thighs. Go ahead, have your laughs!” To counteract this societal shame, we could place our healthy products on the conveyor belt first, and then wait for the person in front to pay for their groceries and walk away before unloading our unwholesome foods. And yes, we have done that. The only problem is the person arriving in line behind us. Their view will be tainted by all of our insalubrious foodstuffs that will surely bring condescending looks, unless of course it’s an adolescent below the age of eighteen, who will assuredly greet us with an approving smile.

And finally, when we’re in a hurry and really want to make our purchase and leave, the embodiment of healthy eating arrives behind us, carrying soy yogurt, carrots, bananas, apples, almond milk, whole wheat bread, and earth-friendly laundry detergent. Our mind hesitates; what should we do? Should we let him go ahead so he doesn’t see our whole milk, caramel-covered banana chips, chocolate mint ice cream, and three bags of Hershey bars? Or do we take a deep breath, look down, and unload our cart?

But wait, there’s more, the ultimate indignity: we’re out of cash, we forgot our debit card, and we only have a personal check. If we have to write a check, that will indubitably delay our exit and allow ample time for surveillance of our purchase, not to mention the disgust of fellow shoppers for the time wasted writing a check—but if we don’t write a check, we’re consigned to leaving and returning later.

However, there is a distraction that just may lessen our embarrassment: the tabloids. Yes, the tabloids. After savoring the repugnance of our purchases, our fellow voyeurs often turn their snobbish eyes to the tasteless tabloids that line the gauntlet to the checkout clerk. But this is not necessarily a surefire solution. We may have to make cruel comments about the face adorning the cover of the tabloid to direct attention away from our food. Unfortunately, this can work against us; now, not only does the person behind us think our purchases are utterly pathetic, but our worth as a human being may be questioned amide our snide remarks about George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Barack Obama, Jennifer Aniston, or Donald Trump.

So, after much thinking, I’ve concluded that these grocery store dilemmas are detrimental to our fragile mental health. And not only that, they have fostered an attraction for fast-food restaurants and contributed to the epidemic of XXL clothing and the pandemic of obesity that eats at our country—no pun intended. Seriously, think about it. Where else can you find the comforting presence of a homogeneous group unified in their love of food irrespective of caloric or fat content, unencumbered by grocery aisle cynics, and grateful for the blissful opportunity for obscurity, than in the drive-through of a fast food “restaurant?” So, pass me the ketchup please, and another order of fries.