Yesterday I was wondering if I have PMS or if I'm just a really horrible person. It occurred to me several times while waiting in line at the grocery store that had I a weapon in my possession, I would have caused grievous bodily harm to several people. Something brings out the Cruella DeVil in me when I shop after working all day. First of all, does everyone in the tri-state area pick up groceries at the exact same time as me, or are stores always filled with insane people that have no clue how to shop properly? Do parents inject their children with extra holyterrorjuice before they leave for the store? Do old people always pick the cart with one broken wheel that screeches like a rusty drill and do they always proceed to be constantly behind you as you shop? These are hypothetical questions, yet they cry out for answers.
The thing about carts is they are meant to be kept away from other people's ankles at all times. Shoppers, let's practice good cart etiquette and keep at least a cart's length distance between all of us. Because if you ram my heels one more motherfucking time, I will pepper spray you, Aunt Mathilda.
To the mother in the toy aisle with your Damien-from-the-movie-Omen child, buy your son that plastic piece of shit he's manifesting demons over. You obviously abdicated all parental authority years ago, so why are you nagging and begging him to behave now? He isn't buying your little show, and we aren't either. You know you're going to give in to him anyway (you always do) which is why he is kicking and screaming on the floor at this moment. His hysterical shouting is sawing away at my civility. Make it stop - shoot him up with Adderall, threaten him with the wrath of your most current "boyfriend" - the father of kid #4 - Bubba or whatever his name is, I do not care, but you must end the madness.
Why is it that while I'm still shopping, as I pass the registers all the lines are completely empty until I'm ready to check out? Then, like the magic of David Copperfield, lines form out of nowhere the second I'm done shopping. Is it an ESP thing, or does my aura say..."Hi! I'm done shopping, and I would really love it if every last shopper here decided to stop shopping a split second before me, so I have to wait in line behind morons who picked up all the items without barcodes, which forces the bagger to run the store like the New York Marathon trying to find all the prices. Thanks!"
Is it just me, or does the store have 15 empty registers and 39 employees milling around with nothing to do but chat? Is it only the stores I frequent that insist on having only 2 registers open, one of which allows 6 items with cash payment only? Are the other 13 registers there just for show? Just to taunt us? Are they there for grocery VIP's and famous people? Wait, famous people don't shop for themselves, they have personal shoppers. I suppose the extra empty registers are there just to make me want to kick the tabloid stands over and laugh maniacally.
I would just like to say please for the love of tofu and sushi pick out all (yes, by all I do mean every last one) of your items BEFORE YOU CHECK OUT. The mere act of checking out implies that you are all done. If you haven't found the unsalted butter you wanted, you aren't done. It seems so simple, maybe I'm wrong.
Here's the thing, you bring your little grocery list with you, and you consult it as your stupid ass flies through the store banging into my heels as you go, and if for some reason those huge signs that clearly tell you what you will find in each aisle are of no use to you, or you forgot your spectacles, or you are just too damn dumb to figure out the act of shopping, it's okay, really it is. Just make a little circuit through the store and find someone wearing a vest with a name on it, and ask them, "Sir/Madam/Stalk of Broccoli, where can I find the jock-itch spray/super-size feminine napkins/kosher eggs laid by virgin chickens, etc". It doesn't even matter if the person wearing the vest doesn't even work for Foody's McSuperChow. They can work for the gas station down the street, I do not care, they just might know where you can find organic cheese-free "cheesefood".
Just remember, the grace period for asking where an item is located ends when you are checking out. That's because you are CHECKING OUT. I'm behind you, and I will be fucked sideways if I'm going to stand there while you tell the checker, "I couldn't find any graham crackers" in the most annoying, whiny tone you can muster, so they have to dispatch an incompetent and surly teen to find graham crackers, only for them to bring back the wrong brand/size/flavor after chatting with their co-worker for 19 minutes. I will beat you about the head and neck with a piece of kohlrabi-I will-and I don't even know what or where kohlrahbi is. But I will find it.
If you bring out coupons and also insist on paying with a check that you didn't even fill out while you were waiting in the two-year-long-line previous to your turn, and then you insist on filling out your check register and balancing your bank account and taking out a home loan before leaving the "check-writing-table/ATM machine thingie (aka: the position of power)", I will open one of the Bic lighters by the magazines and I will burn off all your arm hair, while throwing batteries at your head. Don't test me.