Confessions of a Scale Slave: 9 Volts of Anguish

My scale’s on the fritz and I am freaking out. Suggested Reading Tupac Associate Young Noble’s Death Illuminates Alarming Fact About Suicide Rates Among Black Men Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson’s Recent Dissent Proves She’s Unafraid to Challenge Her Colleagues—Unlike Clarence Thomas After Three Open-Heart Surgeries, This Black Father Discovered an Unusual Cure Video will return…

My scale’s on the fritz and I am freaking out.

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It uses a 9-volt battery, and there aren’t any in the house, so I went to the corner store, and there weren’t any on the big battery thingie. WHY? How many people need 9-volt batteries? Those are for, like, Ice Age devices. I don’t know of any other appliance or gadget in my house that requires 9-volt batts.

Years ago, I would need one or two annually for the smoke detector. Maybe. Now, both the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors are hard-wired, but the blinkie part requires the ever-popular AA batts. AAs are the LeBron James of batteries, while 9-volts are like Bill Gates, circa 1975: the socially awkward mayor of Nerd City.

Even our in-case-of-emergency stuff requires only C and D batteries. Flashlights, lanterns (which are like flashlights on steroids) radios, a small TV – I mean, we don’t even use 9-volts during a hurricane.

I have no idea how old my scale is. I just know it’s allegedly expensive, so expensive that I was supposed to feel really special when I received it as a gift from the person who, at the time, worked in that particular scale-making factory somewhere in Louisiana. Or Mississippi. Had to be at least 15 years ago. The woman was a friend of my mother’s, so Mom got one, first.

The brand is Soehnle, and Amazon has a bunch of them, all at prices I would never pay for a bathroom scale – which is probably why my mother and I both still have ours, and both still work just fine, so I am indeed grateful.

But right now I’m a little crunchy, because then entire Duracell display was devoid of 9-volts, and that means I have to go to East Hell to get one. It’s not that I despise my local Wal-Mart, it’s that no one should have to pack a lunch if all she wants to buy is a stupid, nerd battery. I was willing to pay too much at the corner store, but now I have to go further. I’d have to pass Wal-Mart to get to Kroger or Walgreens, where I most assuredly would end up paying nearly twice as much (but get out in one-tenth the time).

Worse, they removed all the self-checkout stations in East Hell because customers were too dense – hey, this is what all the cashiers told me – so I’ll have to stand in the 20-items-or-less line with my single battery behind the woman with 46 items in her basket, no matter what. And this is a Super Wal-Mart, which is being remodeled as we speak. Translation: Good luck finding batteries, because not only are they not where they used to be, but just like last week’s 20-minute search for bocconcini (fancy name for mozzarella balls), they’re not going to be where the Evil Store Associate says they are, either.

All that to say this: I am a chronic weigher (is that a word?). Everyone says not to do what I do, which is weigh myself every day. Given how women’s weight fluctuates with water retention issues, etc., it really isn’t the smartest thing to do, and I do not recommend it.

And yet, I must admit I’m a slave to my scale, which is why a dead battery makes me spastic. Geez. Isn’t admitting that you have a problem the first step of any 12-step program?

Hmmm. Weighers Anonymous . . .

The best measure of a man’s honesty isn’t his income tax return. It’s the zero adjust on his bathroom scale.  ~  Arthur C. Clarke

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Leslie J. Ansley is an award-winning journalist and entrepreneur who blogs daily for TheRoot. She lives in Raleigh, NC.

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