I know I've written about grocery shopping a few times
before, and I apologize for being redundant, but I am now ratcheting up my
offensive assault on grocery shopping. I
used to believe it should be a full-contact sport. I now believe differently.
Grocery shopping should involve fully armed (locked and
loaded) citizens bound by duty to eliminate the ignorant.
Truly.
Today in the tiny grocery store, there is a woman who should
die. She must die. I am going to see to it.
I encounter her early on, right after the deli, immediately
after I am blocked in by a young couple sampling Sal's pre-packaged pizza. The two of them are straddling the entire
aisle and blocking what is left of the passing corridor with their near empty
cart. After politely saying "Excuse
me" about eight times, I physically shove their cart out of my way. I round the corner to the next aisle and am
suddenly lapped by a woman in a purple wool skirt.
Now first of all, it's in the 70's. What the frig is she doing wearing wool? Second of all -- solid purple? Really?
It's a dusty lilac shade not a vibrant deep shade of purple. It's the kind of purple that only belongs in
wool when part of a tartan print. But I
digress.
Purple Wool Skirt Woman apparently must be friends of the
couple I just accosted because she rolls down the middle of the aisle at about
a snail's pace, not stopping for anything and not going. Crawling along … just slow enough for me to
keep edging up behind her.
"Excuse me," I say politely.
She stops and parks in the middle of the aisle, back to
me. She creeps up a tiny bit. We continue in this pattern until we reach
the end of the aisle. I turn wide from
the displays, cross in front of the registers as if I am getting in line, wait
for her to get complacent, then zoom in front of her into the next aisle.
I don't really need anything here, so I quickly snap through
the pet food, round the corner and …
There she is again.
Purple Wool Skirt Woman. This
time she maneuvers her cart slightly sideways and pretends to be looking at
something. Jello, I think, chocolate
pudding.
"Excuse me," I say again. She doesn't listen, takes her bloody sweet
time, and thinks she has the best of me.
I turn my cart around, go the other way, and start up the next
aisle. Without any warning at all, I see
Purple Wool Skirt Woman, blocking the next aisle.
Either she is racing me, or she has continuous
clones like The Matrix, or she's a hologram, or she's possessed. I say nothing and edge closer. I'm going to push this crazy ass woman out of
my way. She suddenly stands with her
back to the side of the cart, her paltry groceries blocking the right side and
her stupid wool skirt blocking the other.
I pretend I forgot something at the beginning of the aisle and back up
slowly. When she's not looking, I head for the next aisle.
AHA! I make it
through the entire shopping aisle without seeing the woman. I think I've lost her. I head into the second to last aisle of
groceries when …
You guessed it.
Purple Wool Skirt Woman is hanging ahead waiting for me. Anyone ever see the old made-for-TV movie Duel?
This shopper is as sadistic and satanic as the truck driver in that
movie.
I swear on a stack of holy Bibles, if I had a gun right now,
I'd shoot this motherfucker right where she stands. I would mow her down like I'm Il Duce in Boondock Saints. I honestly want to plug the ho right here,
right now. (This is why I do not have a
License To Carry, apparently.)
I mutter under my breath, "You fucking bitch."
She looks at me.
Maybe I don't exactly whisper it. Maybe I say it in a normal voice. Okay, maybe I say it louder than that even,
but I don't yell it. Much. I mean, really. The cashiers up front and all the people
stocking shelves stop, hold their breaths, and gasp in horror. I even think the Muzak has stopped, but I
cannot be certain.
Okay, so I did yell it.
Sue me. This fucking bitch is
playing with me. Normally I wouldn't
care. Normally I'd add shoe polish and
hemorrhoid cream and Tampax and lice shampoo to her cart. But today I'm busy. I'm on a timeline.
I leave my cart, walk around the fucking bitch Purple Wool
Skirt Woman, grab the last few items I need, and head for the line, jockeying
just in front of PWSW, forcing her to go to another line.
Full contact shopping, my ass. Ignorant people like Purple Wool Skirt Woman
shouldn't be allowed out into the real world where everyday people like me are
trying to function. These are the same
people who drive 30 mph in a 50 mph speed zone, the same people who stop for
jaywalkers, the same people who sit at green lights when you're behind them and
run red lights while playing bumper cars with your vehicle as the target.
I think grocery shopping should require guns, those reliable
locked and loaded weapons, just in case.
Then you can plug a dumb bitch when you catch her playing with ya. It might not solve your long-term problem,
but your immediate needs would be met.
End of story.
