Skippy Hates the Grocery Store August 30, 2010Posted by Skippy in Rants.
Children, I hate grocery stores.
When I decided to start eating “better” (in other words, not eating processed crap left, right, and center), I did not realize one consequence of that decision would be more frequent trips to the grocery store. It’s not that I hate getting food…it’s that I hate dealing with the people in the grocery store. The grocery store, like everything else in American life that involves the public, seems to create special kinds of stupid behavior that annoys me to no end.
So. Here’s what pisses me off about the grocery store:
Children, it’s gotten to the point that navigating my local Publix is like planning D-Day. I walk in, and as soon as I’ve grabbed my basket, I start scanning the store for any people wandering around with little trays of salsa or any stations manned by elderly women. No, I do not want any salsa. Jesus fucking Christ, why the hell do they always have trays of fucking salsa? No, I don’t want to waste my time watching you grill up some tilapia or halibut or moose or Tribble. I’m in here to shop, not waste my time nibbling on shit.
There’ve been days in which there’s a) an idiot with a tray of salsa, prowling the deli/bakery section, b) the elderly woman manning that weird cooking station and c) no fewer than two processed crap sampling stations. I start bobbing and weaving through the aisles like I’m a damn X-Wing fighter evading TIE fighters.
2. The Idiot Taking Up the Whole Damn Aisle
Fig. 2: These people probably drive minivans/SUVs with those damn family stickers on them, too.
I swear, either people have no damn peripheral vision or they’re just fucking clueless and rude. Either way, people who take up the whole damn aisle with their overflowing shopping cart while they blithely and stupidly look for the fucking Hamburger Helper staring them right in their stupid face drive me up a wall. Hey! This isn’t your personal grocery store—there are other people here who’d like the opportunity to get around you and your brood, m’kay? Thanks much.
There’s so much I hate about the deli counter—in some ways, it epitomizes what I hate about the grocery store in one neat, mind-shredding package. First of all, if you find yourself in the deli section trying to get some damn sliced meats, plan on being there for a while. Perhaps you can plan your next birthday party there, because that’s about how long you’ll be there. And the person with that goddamn salsa tray knows it. They home in on the poor saps stuck there like a Patriot missile. “Would you like a sample of ____?” Of course, the idiots who thought this would be a good idea banked on people being hungry and saying, “Why, of course I’d love to try ______!”
I also hate the person who has to have 0.2543 pounds of Prosciutto, 1.74 pounds of Hickory-Smoked ham, and then 0.01 pounds of Gouda but decides to order it sequentially instead of all at once. Just when I think that the idiot is done and is on his or her way, the deli worker asks the dreaded question, “Would you like anything else?” Instead of having that shit written down, the idiot ponders for a second and then wants more shit. I then start silently cursing that person and all the biological processes that brought this fool about.
And when I finally am next up, I get the Chatty Deli person. The person who loves to tell me just how YUMMY!! the roast beef is and oh, my, you want two pounds? Are you sure you want that much? Yes, goddamnit, I’m sure I want that much. Did I fucking stutter? If I didn’t want two pounds of Boar’s Head roast beef, I wouldn’t have said, “I’d like two pounds of the Boar’s Head roast beef, please.” Jesus. The last thing I need or want is someone with whom I have absolutely zero emotional connection second-guessing my shopping choices. Alternately, I’ve gotten the Chatty Jokey Deli person. That might even be worse, because I usually get that person when I’m in the least humorous mood. Chatty Jokey Deli person makes a retarded joke about my order and I realize I’m *this* close to becoming Heath Ledger’s Joker from “The Dark Knight.”
Ok, so I’ve survived all the other shit in the store and have made it to the check out line. I can see daylight and am only thinking of how close I am to getting the hell out of Publix. Unfortunately, the checkout lane has the potential to be just as annoying as the deli counter. Here’s why:
The magazine rack at the register. Why is it filled with the dumbest shit on the planet? In what universe am I supposed to give a flying rat’s ass about Obama’s three day drunken gay orgy with Angelina Jolie who is leaving Brad Pitt because she found out that Jennifer Anniston is a transgendered homewrecker? Why is this crap on the stands? Who produces this crap?
More importantly, why does the idiot behind me in the line insist on crowding my space? I’m standing in line, waiting my turn and here’s Mr. or Ms. Dumbfuck standing right. behind. me. Like, they’re breathing down my neck and I’m wondering, “What the hell is your goddamn problem? BACK UP!” Look, Mr. or Ms. Dumbfuck, I know you think you’re super speshul and you’re just as much in a rush to get out of this circle of hell as I am, but sidling right up next to me as I’m using the debit machine isn’t going to speed up the process any faster.
The worst thing about the grocery store?
I’ll have to do this all over again the next week.