Supermarket hell

One thing that I really hate and only do when completely necessary is supermarket shopping. I know some people love supermarkets and treat them as places to worship the Gods of Consumerism and Gluttony but, to me, they are a circle of hell, depicted by strip lighting, crowded aisles and tinny music.

For a start they are never laid out well. Why on earth are the things such as fruit and veg at the beginning, where they will only be squashed by the heavy stuff you put in your trolley later on? This just makes no sense to me. I know all about the psychology behind supermarkets, the way they change the layout, pump in the smell of freshly baked bread and put the BOGOF offers on things you don’t really need, but oh god, I end up so confused and frustrated!

Is it also by design that each and every trolley is wonky or has a stuck wheel? Or is it that we were all supposed to go on trolley driving lessons when we were younger, but none of us got the memo? I always feel that I need L plates and the aid of mirrors and indicator lights when I’m trying to control one of these things. I often end up in the position of experiencing trolley rage, usually when yet another person had bashed me in the ankle and not apologised.

In my local supermarket they also seem to recruit highly trained, specific cashiers. They seem to have two specialities – the surly ‘what are you doing at my till? Can’t you see I’m trying to have a chat to my mate’ sort, or the over enthusiastic ‘let me tell you my life story and you can tell me yours’ type. I will chat to most people but when I’m trying to escape unharmed from the warehouse of horror, the most I want to deal with is basic, idle British chit chat about the weather.

It will be a while until I venture in again; I’m still traumatised from my last experience. The shopping part had gone well but as I was loading up the conveyor belt, I dropped a six pack of beer. I then had to deal with the fizzing bottles, spraying beer all over the floor, me and anyone who happened to be near, whilst I was watched by the entire world. Thinking it was over, I started on my escape, as I went through the front doors, the alarms went off. I stood frozen, though my instincts were screaming at me to run (even though I hadn’t taken anything – habits die hard!), as the security guards came over to inspect me. It turned out that a bottle of amaretto hadn’t been swiped properly, so it wasn’t even my fault.

So, no, it will be a while before I go back. Long live the corner shop!