Some men hunt bucks with guns. Others push dirt with trucks. Adult males routinely build, destroy, conquer, tackle and force.

I shop. For groceries.

I’m surely not the only male to do this, but I believe I am somewhat unique in my desires to do so and my self-diagnosis as a fast, efficient shopper.

A Shopping Ninja, if you will.

Ray Romano has a stand-up bit about the absurdity of a male in line with a handful of coupons. I find no shame in such an activity. I not only shop with coupons, I seek them, sort them, cut them, compile them and redeem them.

About two years ago, I approached the cashier with a full cart of grub and a number of the money-saving sheets of paper. She did not ask for them at the appropriate time and instead noticed them in my hand at the end of the sale. She offered her sorrow and defended her negligence by stating, “Most guys don’t buy groceries with coupons.”

I confirmed her affront to my masculinity by explaining: “I am not like most guys.”

I’m not. I hate to hunt, although I did it once and took one shot at one buck and murdered it successfully. I’ve never pushed dirt with a truck. In fact, besides sweeping the kitchen, I’ve never been so dissatisfied with the location of dirt that I would seek out a truck with which to push it.

I’m fine with where dirt is.

However, I love food and I love to procure it. And if I can do so with less money than one might expect, I increase the amount of groceries I can buy.

I have been offering my services to my wife to complete the family’s weekly grocery shopping on my lunch break. I carry with me a list of items and enjoy the challenge of organizing its contents, managing my time, purchasing all the supplies for less than $100 and making it back to work in one hour. Such a triumph was noted two weeks ago when I returned to work stating to my co-worker, “I am the man!”

I know. I am a dork.

But I receive a great thrill when I accomplish this successfully, which is normally the case. However, in my haste, I often err.

Two months ago, I was approached by a gentleman of whose countenance I was unfamiliar. He spoke with a smile, saying, “Excuse me. I believe you have absconded with my cart.”

I was shocked. I mean, how many people use the word “absconded” in general conversation, much less in the bread aisle of Hannaford?

I apologized, removed my Fruit Loops from his cart and searched with shame for my own collection of groceries.

Such an event was embarrassing, but I assured myself that it was an episode that likely happens only once per lifetime.

My estimates were slightly off.

Last week, I was having a particularly difficult time in the store. I normally know the locations of most items I commonly buy, but my wife had created what I refer to as a Level Ten Black Belt Shopping List, complete with requests for french-fried onions, soybeans and something called allspice.

Skipping a few items in the interest of time, I scooted up and down aisles, always meeting the same customers who were likely bewildered at the sight of a man shopping with the frantic nature of a man on fire.

Finally grabbing a bag of frozen blueberries, I headed over to find the least populated checkout lane to complete the purchase.

An attractive female stranger about my age approached me with a smile (which never happens) and kindly stated that I had taken her cart. Looking down, I noticed that the only item I was familiar with was the bag of frozen blueberries, which looked me in the face and screamed, “You idiot!”

I agreed, as I handed back her items and wished her a good day, apologizing for my misadventure and assuring her that my stupidity was not contagious.

Finally, already with no hope of returning to work on time, I retrieved my cart and headed back to the checkout lane where I discovered that I had forgotten my coupons.

I slumped my shoulders in defeat, repressing a significant rage that could only be properly expressed in two fitting ways.

By shooting a gun or pushing dirt with a truck.