Aisle rage is a very real thing

2014-01-27 13:16

We all know that motorists who seem to intentionally ignore the rules of the road can evoke feelings and emotions in us that may prompt us to do things we dare even utter. Shopping for groceries on payday ricochet these very feelings.

I actually enjoy doing month-end grocery shopping. I’m a bit of a foodie and it’s exciting to fill my trolley with treats and eats for the month. I usually avoid payday shopping at major shopping centres and rather go during the week or late at night but inexplicably found myself wandering the aisles on Saturday the 25th.

“That was my foot thank you very much!”

There should be traffic laws for payday grocery shoppers. Like; keep left, pass right. Stop at the end of the aisle similar to what you would do at a T-junction, signal with your hand before turning and most importantly if your trolley wheel goes over my toe I will be prone to aisle rage.

Apparently halting a trolley in the middle of a tiny walkway while staring at all the pretty baking powder brands is completely acceptable.

“…’scuze me mam, can I just squeeze by?”

I had to navigate my partially filled trolley between the parked steel grocery baskets like Giniel de Villiers through the sands of South America. If I was forced to fill out an accident report of my day shopping it would read like a Russian highway pileup.

“Can you not see me standing here, huh?”

The queues were actually too traumatic to even mention. The lady in front of me was huffing and puffing her permed locks from side to side as the line crawled toward the cashiers.

“I can’t believe they only have four tills open for all these people,” she said in her nasally mono-toned voice. She naturally turned to me, seeking some sort of affirmation on her statement. I wasn’t going to give it to her. I considered myself different to these people. I have patience. I have self-control. Well, until a till actually opened.

A glimmer of hope seemed to appear out of nowhere. The lady behind the cigarette counter had returned from lunch. In a scene straight out of Seinfeld we all reacted, in slow motion, and bolted to the cashier. The empty space in front of her till was like a gift from above. Like rain after a long dry summer.

It seemed the nasally voiced middle aged woman and the granny that was standing behind me in the queue had telepathically teamed up to falter my advancement. They shoved and groaned at me as we played bumping cars all the way to the counter. We were fully aware that we were engaging in idiocy, and in that moment of complete insanity - we were proud of it.

During my hour and a half of shopping I had transformed into a raging lunatic. I was as much a part of the grocery shopping crowd as everybody else.

A surprise awaited us. Before we knew it a teenage girl with a packet of chips and a soda beat us to it. We’d been pipped at the post. She had survived the onslaught of the cavalry and emerged victorious. Completely oblivious to our theatrics of course.

Grunting and wheezing like horses after the Durban July we stood in anger and watched in amazement how a teenie bopper had taken the top spot. All the guts and glory without the fight. She didn’t deserve to stand there, at the front of the queue.

As she packed her change into her wallet and proceeded to insert it into her fong-kong designer bag, the bag fell to the ground and a little clip broke off. A deep satisfaction filled me. I enjoyed her pain.

What had I become? Why was I happy at this girl’s misfortune? What happened to me? It was absurd. My blood was boiling and I was totally stressed out.

It was the shopping! It was the shopping!

As soon as I paid I rushed to my car. I would not further expose my now fragile nature to this crazed society. On my drive home I made a promise to myself, that never ever would I return to the dark world of pay-day grocery shopping again.

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