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I feel like by now I should know better than to go into the grocery store on a Friday morning. I am sure plenty of dicks (who are also known as friends/family,) on FB or the internet. would tell me that I shouldn't go on Friday and bla-di-blah well aren't you so motherfucking organized and here is your major award for being so on top of your life, don't you have some dolphins to save or something since you have all this extra time with your organized life?
BUT... sometimes I need things on a Friday and living in a fairly rural area, I don't have the greatest choice of grocery stores so I have to join the heaving masses in going to a store that is just a tidge too small or too stupid so I can get things for dinner. See, I should also point out that I also now have a small-ish fridge so space is at a premium and so I need to do shopping a bit more. Yes in theory I have an extra fridge that I could turn on but that costs money because power ain't cheap. But then neither is gas. It's life. I deal. But fuck all I think... I think England has made me dread grocery shopping at times. Which is sad. I ADORE grocery shopping. I am amazing at it. I should make a whole zine about the joys of grocery shopping or something. At least not grocery shopping in hell.
And in the fray I find myself thinking, "Right now, I could not Hate the British people than I do in this moment. I can forgive a history of colonialism and what it did to 2/5ths of the world, but this? This is cruel."
As I mentioned elsewhere, there seem to be two Olympic events, the shopping cart derby, where old people seem to be intent in trying to cripple every last able-bodied person by trying to run people down with their carts, or shoving their way to the parsnips. I get it you don't have much time on this earth, time is important, you gotta get to the root vegetables, because Countdown will be on later. There isn't even the half-hearted, "oh sorry"
as you try and shank me with the beet root, it is every man for himself. I would LOVE to let the murderous old people and their carts through but there are these other people having an event. The faffers. OH MY GOD THE FAFFERS. They've been kept in a closet for several years and it is their first time out and they are marvelling over the fact that there is soup with coriander in it or something. I will be patient with those people but the rest of them are just out to drive me mad. You are in a grocery store and yes there are bright lights and an offer on Jaffa cakes but you need to move because Betty over there is on a mission to do my Achilles in with her cart and I NEED my Achilles to walk. There is reasonable looking over the products, finding what you need because the assholes who run the grocery store have moved the goat's cheese for the fifth time that month, and trying to decide whether you want light laughing cow cheese or regular. I get that. Gotta see what is there. But some people are just standing there. Waiting. For an imaginary bus? For the reaping? I... I do not know. AND THEN there are the people who have some kind of French New Wave film long conversation where they must sort through a life time of emotions all by the yogurt and these aisles aren't very wide. Just barely wide enough for two carts to MAYBE get through if people aren't stocking the shelves because the fuckfaces in charge at Morrisons obviously took a page from the good wise people at Monoprix. So it ends up turning into the Grand National by the Weetabix as you not only have to run for it, you have these obstacles to get over/around/under without hopefully breaking a leg and have someone put up the barrier while the vet puts you down, because you ain't recovering from that. And yes today some faffer won gold because they caused an ENTIRE aisle (which had someone doing some restocking) to stand-still because there was nowhere or way to move. I told the children to be prepared to sleep next to the sausages tonight because we weren't going anywhere for awhile. And it took a good couple of minutes to convince someone that they could talk elsewhere since someone was likely to begin giving birth sometime soon by the hams if they didn't get a move on.
All the while humanity is happening all around you. And you are trying to buy some hummus. I just want to get some hummus and milk and some other things, just like everyone else but I can't. I can't JUST get these things and politely move around other people. No, it is Bartertown. Must I do battle? I didn't bring my war hammer. No one told me that we were Vikings. And I am trying to keep my kids cool and calm. "STOP haranguing your sister, do you think that when someone is yelling stop, that they want you to stop? Or are they just making conversation?" "NO you may not have chocolate yogurt." "Yes, we are getting olives for pizza." OMG STOP TRYING TO MURDER ME MADGE I KNOW YOU WANT TO GET TO THE DAIRYLEA.
By the time I get to check-out, my eye is twitching and I do my best to make polite chit-chat with the nice clerk AND get my damn groceries packed, and tell the children for the millionth time, "no we aren't eating cake at the awful café." and telling the clerk that YES I know such and such is on offer if I buy two but I only have so much room in my fucking fridge so I will make do with one YES I KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW I won't get such and such thing off but I don't care. I JUST WANT OUT OF HERE I JUST WANT OUT OF HERE. BERYL STOP TAIL-GATING ME I KNOW YOU WANT TO PUT YOUR SHIT ON THE BELT. Seriously England, are you good at reading social cues and realizing when a person might not be keen to chat about getting 10p off of hummus by buying two? Because none of the grocery store clerks seem to pick up on obvious body language.
We eventually get out of there. I want a Xanax. Several Xanax. A version of Lucky charms where all the charms are Xanax. I want that in a bowl with lots of milk.
Morrisons I HATES YOU.
BUT... sometimes I need things on a Friday and living in a fairly rural area, I don't have the greatest choice of grocery stores so I have to join the heaving masses in going to a store that is just a tidge too small or too stupid so I can get things for dinner. See, I should also point out that I also now have a small-ish fridge so space is at a premium and so I need to do shopping a bit more. Yes in theory I have an extra fridge that I could turn on but that costs money because power ain't cheap. But then neither is gas. It's life. I deal. But fuck all I think... I think England has made me dread grocery shopping at times. Which is sad. I ADORE grocery shopping. I am amazing at it. I should make a whole zine about the joys of grocery shopping or something. At least not grocery shopping in hell.
And in the fray I find myself thinking, "Right now, I could not Hate the British people than I do in this moment. I can forgive a history of colonialism and what it did to 2/5ths of the world, but this? This is cruel."
As I mentioned elsewhere, there seem to be two Olympic events, the shopping cart derby, where old people seem to be intent in trying to cripple every last able-bodied person by trying to run people down with their carts, or shoving their way to the parsnips. I get it you don't have much time on this earth, time is important, you gotta get to the root vegetables, because Countdown will be on later. There isn't even the half-hearted, "oh sorry"
as you try and shank me with the beet root, it is every man for himself. I would LOVE to let the murderous old people and their carts through but there are these other people having an event. The faffers. OH MY GOD THE FAFFERS. They've been kept in a closet for several years and it is their first time out and they are marvelling over the fact that there is soup with coriander in it or something. I will be patient with those people but the rest of them are just out to drive me mad. You are in a grocery store and yes there are bright lights and an offer on Jaffa cakes but you need to move because Betty over there is on a mission to do my Achilles in with her cart and I NEED my Achilles to walk. There is reasonable looking over the products, finding what you need because the assholes who run the grocery store have moved the goat's cheese for the fifth time that month, and trying to decide whether you want light laughing cow cheese or regular. I get that. Gotta see what is there. But some people are just standing there. Waiting. For an imaginary bus? For the reaping? I... I do not know. AND THEN there are the people who have some kind of French New Wave film long conversation where they must sort through a life time of emotions all by the yogurt and these aisles aren't very wide. Just barely wide enough for two carts to MAYBE get through if people aren't stocking the shelves because the fuckfaces in charge at Morrisons obviously took a page from the good wise people at Monoprix. So it ends up turning into the Grand National by the Weetabix as you not only have to run for it, you have these obstacles to get over/around/under without hopefully breaking a leg and have someone put up the barrier while the vet puts you down, because you ain't recovering from that. And yes today some faffer won gold because they caused an ENTIRE aisle (which had someone doing some restocking) to stand-still because there was nowhere or way to move. I told the children to be prepared to sleep next to the sausages tonight because we weren't going anywhere for awhile. And it took a good couple of minutes to convince someone that they could talk elsewhere since someone was likely to begin giving birth sometime soon by the hams if they didn't get a move on.
All the while humanity is happening all around you. And you are trying to buy some hummus. I just want to get some hummus and milk and some other things, just like everyone else but I can't. I can't JUST get these things and politely move around other people. No, it is Bartertown. Must I do battle? I didn't bring my war hammer. No one told me that we were Vikings. And I am trying to keep my kids cool and calm. "STOP haranguing your sister, do you think that when someone is yelling stop, that they want you to stop? Or are they just making conversation?" "NO you may not have chocolate yogurt." "Yes, we are getting olives for pizza." OMG STOP TRYING TO MURDER ME MADGE I KNOW YOU WANT TO GET TO THE DAIRYLEA.
By the time I get to check-out, my eye is twitching and I do my best to make polite chit-chat with the nice clerk AND get my damn groceries packed, and tell the children for the millionth time, "no we aren't eating cake at the awful café." and telling the clerk that YES I know such and such is on offer if I buy two but I only have so much room in my fucking fridge so I will make do with one YES I KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW I won't get such and such thing off but I don't care. I JUST WANT OUT OF HERE I JUST WANT OUT OF HERE. BERYL STOP TAIL-GATING ME I KNOW YOU WANT TO PUT YOUR SHIT ON THE BELT. Seriously England, are you good at reading social cues and realizing when a person might not be keen to chat about getting 10p off of hummus by buying two? Because none of the grocery store clerks seem to pick up on obvious body language.
We eventually get out of there. I want a Xanax. Several Xanax. A version of Lucky charms where all the charms are Xanax. I want that in a bowl with lots of milk.
Morrisons I HATES YOU.
