Get outta my way you nincompoops, busy guy coming through! (Or trying to.) You're holding people up here, so for the love of God ~ GET OUTTA MY WAY! You might not have anything to do but the rest of us have. So puuleeese, save the chit chat for school reunions (where everyone is as bad yourself) and keep clear.
I was looking for bread once and thought a party had broken out among the French sticks. How I overcame the urge to smash someone in the ankles with the trolley wheels I'll never know. The God of Patience must have been looking for chops in the next aisle and some rubbed off on me. (Patience I mean, not the God. Im not in the habit of rubbing up to Gods.)
BANZAAAAIIIII!
That isn't the only thing about supermarkets that get my dander up either. Checkouts manned by the invisible man/woman don't exactly help in lowering my blood pressure. In my local Tesco and Morrison's there must be around 20 checkout tills but I have yet to see them ALL open at once. Usually only half are being manned, the rest stand idle as queues pile up behind the open checkouts. Why is that?
Do these places think I ENJOY standing in line like a lemon behind some sweaty, fat man in a football jersey? Or worse, standing in front of a nosey, old bat who insists on looking at everything you're buying as you place the goods on the conveyor belt. Don't look at my booze with that disapproving glint in your eye! I don't condemn you for having a trolley full of Sanatogen and bran flakes.
OPEN THE DAMNED CHECKOUTS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! All of them, this instant! And while you are at it put prices on everything so that I don't have to use the bloody price checker machine every two minutes. What am I? Doing your job for you now?
I swear shopping trips are getting longer by the week. Little wonder the use of alcohol is very, shall we say liberal when I finally get home.