Little Irritations
Growing up I get more and more irritated by little things that never bugged me before. I know it’s my own personal problem to deal with, but maybe sharing some of these irritations might help blow of some steam.
Let’s start of with the first one today.
Old people in supermarkets
Why, for the love of all that is holy, do they all seem to come out of there hiding places when I’m doing my shopping after work? They have all the time in the world. No need to do shopping after six! But no. They seem dead set on dragging their old bones in while I’m trying to scramble something together for dinner. I see them lurking closer and closer like $#$* zombies. I bet this started of ‘The Walking Dead’.
When two of them meet, and this is not a rare occasions, they tend to talk in the aisles in such a manner you can not pass without disturbing their talk about… whatever, let’s leave it at their upcoming appointment with the grim reaper.
They look at you as if you asked them to move out of state in stead of ‘could you maybe, if it is no way an inconvenience to you, dear sir, move a little to the side with your cart that is currently holding one banana?’
While i’m passing the two ancient ones a little fantasy plays in my mind involving said banana and a sphincter.
But as I am a grown man, and have still some (misplaced) fear of the authorities I do not act on this impulse. But let’s say that this feeling is getting harder and harder to ignore. Sometimes I think it might be better to act on it then the bottle it all up. Maybe ramming some banana’s down that old chute is better then the upcoming alternative: pineapples. Just an after thought.
When you have navigated through and around them in the aisles, you take your pick at the various checkout lines. I once made the mistake to pick the line with only one dear old lady instead of the one where four young and lively folks where waiting in.
You must never do this.
It will suck all the life enjoyment out of you. It will leave you emotionally drained for days. It will make you want to do bodily harm to yourself and innocent bystanders.
Let me try to explain what portrayed at this checkout-line:
She could not get here juice bottle on belt. I helped getting the juice bottle on the belt. Because basically I’m just a nice guy. The juice bottle fell because of the sudden movement of the belt. She blamed me for putting it upright on the belt. I blamed here for being to old to do it herself. She shouted something about having respect for elders. I shouted something about dancing on graves.
Ok. I should not have shouted that I would dance the tango with a bare naked dwarf on her grave when her, and i’m quoting from memory here, ‘fragile sack of horse manure would nourish the roses’.
I have no dwarf fetish what-so-ever and have no clue where that came from. I also do not know if she even wants roses on here grave, so it was inappropriate of me to make that assumption. I see that now. For that I am sorry.
I am not sorry for throwing my grapes at her. They bounced right of here leathery skin and seemed to do no harm. When she kneed me in the groin it felt like someone took a baseball bat to my testicles. We are talking zero fat here on that pointy old bone.
Strangely enough it was then when two strapping young man, employed by the supermarket, escorted me (while still being in the fetal position - so it was more ‘carrying’) from the checkout line straight out of the big moving doors.
In my rage I might have compared them with Hitler’s henchmen. On that thought I might even have said that the old woman probably was Eva Braun.
Again, I apologize. I did not know Eva Braun. And I did not mean to compare her to this evil personified standing in line, eating my grapes of the belt while people asked here if she was feeling alright.
I, on the other hand, was asked (and not in a pleasant tone mind you!) to do my shopping elsewhere from now on.
From now on I’ll click my groceries together online.
Aah… ‘Online’… A place where the elderly can take all the time they have left, typing away on old, big keyboards.
One Letter At A Time