Next time I'm bringing a taser

It's a miracle I'm here talking to you right now, y'all, instead of under arrest for punching someone in the face. See, I had to go to the grocery store twice after work today. I don't mind going to the grocery during the day when it's pretty empty, or if MB and I go together, but going right after work is always a crapshoot, because it's likely to be really crowded. I am not the world's most patient person by nature, and though I have learned to be quite Zen most of the time, it really irks me when people fuck with my grocery store efficiency mojo. Really, people, I have a list and I just want to get in, get my shit, and get the hell out of Dodge. It doesn't help that two of my biggest pet peeves are people who lack common sense and people who lack common courtesy.

When I shop, I always make an effort to park my cart as far to the side as I can, so as not to block other people's progress. If I park my cart to browse, I'll stand in front of or behind it, not beside it so that my cart is blocking one half of the aisle and my body is blocking the other. When people park their carts (or their asses) in the middle of the damn aisle, I start to get a wee bit irritated. So, of course, at the first grocery I went to after work (let's call it Swanky Grocery, since it's a little nicer than most of the stores we frequent), the produce section was full of aisle blockers and the dreaded millers -- people who mill about aimlessly, staring slack-jawed at their surroundings and moving at the slowest pace possible.

One woman had a kid roaming around and another in the cart, which she had parked EXACTLY in the middle of the section. I waited patiently behind another woman, who was picking out melons and who smiled apologetically when she saw that I was blocked in. The first woman finished bagging up her greens or whatever, chucked them in the cart, moved her cart two feet forward and then stopped again and walked off. At that point I had to bail because I could tell I was about to bust out some Angry Jazz Hands.

Things got better for a bit, until I encountered a chick in pink yoga pants, yapping on her cell phone in the wine aisle while her cart sat cockeyed in the middle of the damn thoroughfare. I seriously wanted to slap a 'ho, let me tell you. I went around the other end of the aisle, got some wine for MB, and made my escape. There were a few things left on the list, but I was clean out of patience. It didn't help that I went to the Ghetto Grocery (so named for its location, clientele, and lack of selection) yester-damn-day after work, and was only at the Swanky Grocery because the Ghetto Grocery didn't have some of the stuff we needed.

When I got home, MB announced that I had "forgotten" to get his soda pop and corn chips for the salsa he wanted to make. I say "forgotten" because he had not asked me to get the chips OR the soda, even though I asked him twice if he needed anything. He wheedled and made sad eyes and against my better judgement I finally agreed to drive down to the smaller, crappier grocery about five minutes from our house to get his damn chips and soda. We'll call this one Crappy Grocery since the selection is kind of limited and the dairy section is highly suspect. (For real, almost every time I've tried to pick up yogurt there, every cup of Yoplait on the shelves was expired. Gag.)

I should've known it was a bad move when, as I was trying to walk into the store, I was accosted by a woman with a bad bleach job, who forced one of those "I'm deaf, buy this useless trinket" cards into my hand as I was passing. I'm all for charity, but ( 1 ) I just want to get my damn groceries and go home, ( 2 ) I don't carry cash, and ( 3 ) if you can afford a cigarette habit, I'm not going to feel all that inclined to give you my money. I managed to quickly round up the freaking chips and freaking soda and headed for the checkouts. Both open registers were pretty backed up, but I picked the one with the shorter line, falling in behind a middle aged guy with only two items. As I pushed my cart into place, the register next to that one opened. Now, I'm not any kind of traditionalist and I think it's kind of sexist to assume that ladies should always get to go first, but I think it was a little extreme for him to whip around, practically shove my cart into my stomach, and push past me so he could jump to the next line. Because my mother raised me right, I did not yell, "What the fuck, asshole?" at him or throw a bag of chips at his head. I really think I'm growing as a person.



No video, just the best supermarket song ever: