Hell's Bells and Shopping Carts

I will never, never ever enter a supermarket on a Sunday for the remainder of my days on this planet or any other planet, for that matter.There are two things that send me into a slight panic when I experience them.
The first is to wake up and find that I don't have any cigarettes in my pack. The second is to find out at the same time that there isn't any coffee in the cupboard.

I encountered both of those situations this morning and although I was a little put off about having to venture outside on a dreary soggy Sunday morning, if I wanted my fix then I was going to have to make some kind of effort. If only I had known what I was getting myself into I might have just stayed home with a cup of tea instead.

Pulling into a parking spot right in front of the store entrance, I thought to myself, 'Oh-Hooooo, prime spot. I'll be in and out and back at home in no time flat.'

Making my way through the aisles I encountered a creature that, if were on the verge of extinction, I doubt that anyone would shed a tear or lodge a protest to preserve: The Slothy Suburban Shopping Socialite.

This beast creates road blocks throughout the store by leaving their shopping carts in the middle of the aisles while they are chatting up a storm with the other members of the herd. God forbid you have to get through and actually lay a hand on their grocery cart. This will produce a reaction where the socialite will come waddling at you with high pitched squeals and hands raised it the air to ward you away from their precious cargo.

Eventually I made my way through the aisle blocking women and their screaming children to get to the coffee section and procure my single bag of beans. That done; I made my way to the check-out lines and discovered that Japan has no express lines. No express lines at all! So you know that just as I am making my way to the register with the shortest line, a suburbabitch runs in front of me with a shopping cart overflowing with everything under the sun. I'm standing there with a single stinking bag of coffee thinking about using it to smack the smarmy smile of her face. I gave the bag a light toss and tested the heft and decided to find another line.

By the time I made it back to the car and then to the convenience store for a pack of smokes that I was in much need of, at least forty minutes had passed. Forty minutes of my precious Sunday morning spent in aggravation.

I should have stayed in bed.