There is very little in life that scares me more than supermarkets. It seems that they are a foreign land that was built up to confuse me and leave me to die all by myself in the deli section. Supermarkets are inhabited mostly by older people who take their time (although at that age you would think otherwise,) and housewives that shop and are in a real hurry to get it over with, storming down each aisle, maneuvering their carts with the precision of a racecar driver.
I on the other hand: am a patient man, filled with good cheer as I saunter down each aisle, looking for things that are not where they should be, useless items that are well stocked, looking at a brand that is very close to what I want, but not quite, negotiating the aisles with great strains as I come to a screeching halt as some old lady has her cart parked square in the middle of the aisle so I or anyone else can’t get through. Of course to say: “Excuse me?” would invite an ugly look or complete annoyance, or maybe they will play their old age card and pretend they are deaf.
Today as I paraded down the aisle looking for basil, there was this little boy in the children’s seat sitting there screaming. His Mother was busy squeezing tomatoes a few feet ahead of him and not paying attention. So I pushed the little critter down the aisle to get him a little away from my area, to save what eardrums I still have left. As I pushed him, he quieted down, and then I stuck my tongue out at him and ran to my cart to check out-fast! The kid starting to scream at a fever pitch, and I wasn’t looking back. But some cranky old lady says to me at the checkout counter: “I wish people would teach their children to behave a little better.” When she said that, I thought of my Mother and wanted to tell the old goat that it was my Mother’s fault in the end that that kid was now screaming.
Look, I need some entertainment once in a while.
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