It’s a supermarket one. I know some of you out there have it in for a certain German store (or two) who require that you pack your groceries after you pay for them. You find the whole shoving your purchases into your trolley, annoying, unnecessary and just a bit well, shit.
Point taken and I don’t blame you.
But that’s not my gripe today.
My supermarket OCD pet hate would be the collectors at the check-out.
Does anyone else grit their teeth, tense their shoulders and go “oh fukit” under their breath when they see the high viz jackets at the check-outs. The people offering to pack your shopping in return for your loose change?
Please tell me I’m not the only one who puts her Hyacinth Bucket face on when she sees this.
I have a list (and I’m not afraid to use it) of my top 5 most hated collectors in the supermarket. In no certain order of rank, this is it.
Kids. I like kids. I do. I’ve got four of my own and I bear in mind that some of my precious crew could find themselves at the end of a checkout one day themselves collecting for some cat charity or other. But kids can’t pack shopping. They. Just. Can’t. Mind the eggs!
Men. I like men. I do. I’ve got 5 of my own but also men can’t pack shopping. They. Just. Can’t. If they remember to separate the eggs from the spuds you’re doing well. But they have a terrible habit of putting every single heavy item into the one bag. It’s like a competition with them. Let’s see who can create the heaviest bag and then, I swear, they hide inside the supermarket entrance and titter at the lady struggling to lift that fucker out of the trolley.
Older Ladies. I like older ladies. I do. There are a few of them in my family. But most of them can keep their opinions to themselves. Yes, I’ve got four kids. Yes, I’ve got my hands full. Yes, they are all boys. Yes, they are hard work. Yes, I am blessed. No, he won’t be cold without a coat/hat/scarf/gloves. Yes, they are good boys and “Do As They Are Told.” Please, for the love of Rowntrees Randoms, please, do not withhold anything from my kids until they promise someone they have never seen before that they will Be Good. (You old goat)
Younger Ladies. I like younger girls. I do. Ok, that sounds creepy. I’ll stop now. Young wans are afraid of snagging their gel nails. Young wans talk amongst themselves as they text on their phones, as they pack my fekin messages. (Messages. Isn’t that a real mammy thing to say?) Totally ignoring the fact that yogurts and items packed in plastic with sharp edges should not live in the same bag. Mind the eggs!
Ladies of a Certain Age. In their twenties for all the above reasons. And because today she forgot to pack my eggs. But her make-up was very nice.
Please sign my petition for the right to pack my own groceries. My foodstuffs lives depend on it. If you don’t sign it, many sliced pans will be crushed to death under a bag of potatoes.
Do you really want that on your conscience?