Hormonally Yours.
I don't like to play the hormone card because I think it cheapens my natural misanthropic view of the world. Also I think blaming hormones just gives certain people carte blanche to behave appallingly and yet others the right to roll their eyes at the funny-but plainly oh so hysterical- women.
But at the same time-having just been to the supermarket- I find myself filled to the brim with inexplicible incandescent rage.
Pulling into the drive way here my knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my eyes wild and rolling and it dawned on me that was I a sword carrier I was one very fine baby hair away from pulling a Michael Douglas in Falling Down and slaughtering half of the assorted stupid lazy bovine fuck wits I came across this fine and vindy morning.
Seriously.
One hair away.
I wondered then, how many of us ticking time bombs are there wandering around, keeping a lid on things with the greatest of effort?
Surely the number must be legion?
There should be a super market shopping set of rules. If people must shop at a supermarket, and let's face it most of us do at some point, then people ought to be fucking more considerate.
But people are utter utter contemptible bastards.
If in the car park a woman waits while you pull out of a space, slowly and painfully cranking the wheel of your Micra or Yaris, easing it inch by inch out of a space that would cheerfully take an Boeing 747, then the VELLY fucking least you could do is acknowledge that woman's manners and EXEMPLARY patience. You don't have to get out and start offering to bake her rhubarb crumble, but a smile, a head nod, anything at all would suffice you sloth driving twat.
Also, I understand women of a certain age all know each other and are all called Mary and Carmel and I also fully understand you Marys and Carmels have devised a way to synchronize your shopping so that you can meet at exactly the same time on exactly the same day. What I don't understand is why you must cluster at the mouth of the Butter/Cheese/milk aisle and blather, pausing only to look snootily at the polite woman who said, 'Excuse me, please' as she tried to ease past. Oh and thanks SO FUCKING MUCH or the two inch gap you were good enough to provide.
Oh, and you there, all you Kerry Katona look alikes, yeah you lot with the running children, yes especially you in the 'juicy' tracksuit bottoms, it was so fucking HILARIOUS when your Tommy clattered straight into me, I really appreciated the depth and feeling you put into your 'Tommy mind the Lady' But uttering those words after he has winded me with his mallet head is surely a bit redundant no? Look here, if you can't keep the little shit on a leash, or at the very least OUT of the strange lady's abdominals, then leave him in a childminders/playschool/Gammas/bath with a toaster and a two bar fire. Leave him doped up in the car, whatever, I don't care. OH and that gritted teeth expression the lady did warrants at least a 'sorry about that'. But that's okay, next aisle Tommy tears past me I'm going to stick my foot out and send the little darling flying. I hope he slides along the floor on his face.
Yes, I'll get 'that down for you' old lady, you were polite.
Oh great, packed to the gills and three checkouts open.
Right. Calm down, hum vide cor meum. Think about work. NO, don't think about that.
Here's another thing you could do shopper, if you're not the most self-centered miserable hag, you could pack your fucking shopping as the check out girl scans it through. See the way it's all piling up at the end there? SEE IT? Why aren't you fucking packing? What's the point of standing there like an upright Beluga in plaid watching the electronic price creep up?
Where's your purse? Why is it still in your handbag? Don't you know how supermarkets work, you're going to have to PAY for those goods you're not packing.
WHY ARE YOU NOT PACKING?
I've got everything on the conveyor belt, the woman behind is trying to unload her's, and you haven't even taken your fucking purse out. I want nothing more than to back hand you across your face you you you... Now I have to wait, the check out girl has to wait, EVERONE has to wait because you could not even be bothered to consider ANYONE other than yourself. OH yes, count out the money, oh yes make sure your purse if in the ABSOLUTE right section of your bag, now pack, could you go any slower? COULD YOU?
Oh, I see, you can.
ARGH!
Stay calm, don't look at her, if you look at her she'll burst into flames. You'll burst into flames. There will be flames somewhere.
FInally.
Out.
Back to the car.
Load.
Bring trolley back to bay.
Back to car, heart beating rather uncomfortably isn't it?
Get into car.
Turn on car.
Brenda power!!
Argh!
Wait to reverse out of space. No one will let me. Feel temper rising. Car pulls up directly behind mine even though they too must wait.
Mutter more swear words that a sailor even knows.
Finally!
Out.
Every light is red.
Eventually pull into drive.
Vow to build some kind of weapon to obliterate world.
Put away shopping and have tea instead.
Decide to wander down to bottom of the garden after tea to look for phone which once again was hurled down that way sometime this morning, before supermarket trip.
Vow to start taking evening primrose.
Sit shakily at desk. Complain to chumlies.
Drink tea.
Check pulse.
Argh!
But at the same time-having just been to the supermarket- I find myself filled to the brim with inexplicible incandescent rage.
Pulling into the drive way here my knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my eyes wild and rolling and it dawned on me that was I a sword carrier I was one very fine baby hair away from pulling a Michael Douglas in Falling Down and slaughtering half of the assorted stupid lazy bovine fuck wits I came across this fine and vindy morning.
Seriously.
One hair away.
I wondered then, how many of us ticking time bombs are there wandering around, keeping a lid on things with the greatest of effort?
Surely the number must be legion?
There should be a super market shopping set of rules. If people must shop at a supermarket, and let's face it most of us do at some point, then people ought to be fucking more considerate.
But people are utter utter contemptible bastards.
If in the car park a woman waits while you pull out of a space, slowly and painfully cranking the wheel of your Micra or Yaris, easing it inch by inch out of a space that would cheerfully take an Boeing 747, then the VELLY fucking least you could do is acknowledge that woman's manners and EXEMPLARY patience. You don't have to get out and start offering to bake her rhubarb crumble, but a smile, a head nod, anything at all would suffice you sloth driving twat.
Also, I understand women of a certain age all know each other and are all called Mary and Carmel and I also fully understand you Marys and Carmels have devised a way to synchronize your shopping so that you can meet at exactly the same time on exactly the same day. What I don't understand is why you must cluster at the mouth of the Butter/Cheese/milk aisle and blather, pausing only to look snootily at the polite woman who said, 'Excuse me, please' as she tried to ease past. Oh and thanks SO FUCKING MUCH or the two inch gap you were good enough to provide.
Oh, and you there, all you Kerry Katona look alikes, yeah you lot with the running children, yes especially you in the 'juicy' tracksuit bottoms, it was so fucking HILARIOUS when your Tommy clattered straight into me, I really appreciated the depth and feeling you put into your 'Tommy mind the Lady' But uttering those words after he has winded me with his mallet head is surely a bit redundant no? Look here, if you can't keep the little shit on a leash, or at the very least OUT of the strange lady's abdominals, then leave him in a childminders/playschool/Gammas/bath with a toaster and a two bar fire. Leave him doped up in the car, whatever, I don't care. OH and that gritted teeth expression the lady did warrants at least a 'sorry about that'. But that's okay, next aisle Tommy tears past me I'm going to stick my foot out and send the little darling flying. I hope he slides along the floor on his face.
Yes, I'll get 'that down for you' old lady, you were polite.
Oh great, packed to the gills and three checkouts open.
Right. Calm down, hum vide cor meum. Think about work. NO, don't think about that.
Here's another thing you could do shopper, if you're not the most self-centered miserable hag, you could pack your fucking shopping as the check out girl scans it through. See the way it's all piling up at the end there? SEE IT? Why aren't you fucking packing? What's the point of standing there like an upright Beluga in plaid watching the electronic price creep up?
Where's your purse? Why is it still in your handbag? Don't you know how supermarkets work, you're going to have to PAY for those goods you're not packing.
WHY ARE YOU NOT PACKING?
I've got everything on the conveyor belt, the woman behind is trying to unload her's, and you haven't even taken your fucking purse out. I want nothing more than to back hand you across your face you you you... Now I have to wait, the check out girl has to wait, EVERONE has to wait because you could not even be bothered to consider ANYONE other than yourself. OH yes, count out the money, oh yes make sure your purse if in the ABSOLUTE right section of your bag, now pack, could you go any slower? COULD YOU?
Oh, I see, you can.
ARGH!
Stay calm, don't look at her, if you look at her she'll burst into flames. You'll burst into flames. There will be flames somewhere.
FInally.
Out.
Back to the car.
Load.
Bring trolley back to bay.
Back to car, heart beating rather uncomfortably isn't it?
Get into car.
Turn on car.
Brenda power!!
Argh!
Wait to reverse out of space. No one will let me. Feel temper rising. Car pulls up directly behind mine even though they too must wait.
Mutter more swear words that a sailor even knows.
Finally!
Out.
Every light is red.
Eventually pull into drive.
Vow to build some kind of weapon to obliterate world.
Put away shopping and have tea instead.
Decide to wander down to bottom of the garden after tea to look for phone which once again was hurled down that way sometime this morning, before supermarket trip.
Vow to start taking evening primrose.
Sit shakily at desk. Complain to chumlies.
Drink tea.
Check pulse.
Argh!
posted by fatmammycat at 10:18 a.m.
39 Comments:
Oh how I laughed.......awh....feel your pain. It's the Katona-likes that kill me the most with their broods of evil monkey helpers. God forbid you hit one repeatedly with your trolley......
I identify with this 100%. Nothing to be done on days like that. Step away from anything sharp, step away from all people, make fat sandwich and cup of tea, put slushy eye candy DVD on tv (Love Story is good) something you can comfortably bawl your eyes out at. Forget work, snuggle up with cat(s)and box of tissues. Very cathartic - feel much better by the end, bright eyed, bushy tailed, happy and ready for new action.
Ahhh you poor pet I hate those days although they are rare as I'm rather passive. Throwing the phone down the back yard is funny though. Imagine what the neighbours think heh.
2 words, FMC: Home delivery.
Mr Tesco is the only thing that has spared the citizens of Belfast from the wrath of this particular sheep-worrying murder machine.
when this happens in future, just go back to bed and get out on the OTHER side
I don't mind the mood swings too much, it's the hyperventilation I could do without.
Plus I've got to stop throwing things down the garden. I had to replace the garlic crush recently and the paramour said, 'But what happened to our old one?'
'It just broke.' I said.
'It just broke?'
'Yes, it JUST broke.'
'I see.' He said, but he didn't really oh no. He didn't really.
I remember once standing at the supermarket till with sanitary towels, ibuprofen and a large bar of chocolate thinking, the clues are not hard to follow
This sounds suspiciously like my every waking moment.
But the sprawling toddler does bring relief. How their howls of shock and pain make me smile.
Heard Brenda power reviewing a play yesterday and felt like crashing the car into a wall. I find Sean Moncrieff much less objectionable. Not particularly good but certainly less crash inducing. Also the till operators talking to each other about Tracey's latest boyfriend and what he said to her on Saturday night does not interest me in the least when I am trying to hand them money.
GAH! I know those people - they are the SAME over here. The ones who stop their trolley right in front of the very item I need to get to, and stand their while I stretch to heights I don't own to reach over their trolley to get them. The ones who give me filthy looks when I say 'excuse me' as I squeeze through the three inch gap they make only under duress because they can't be bothered to ROLL their cart enough to let an adult human through. The ones in the check out, who stand there, watch every item get scanned rather than get their wallets out, question every price, don't pack up, then when they're done, take a million years to make sure their purse is in exactly the right order, the receipt is checked over carefully, and folded oh so neatly into their pocket before getting the fuck out of the way so that those of us who have the money ready, because we have a LIFE TO LIVE can get to the end of the belt and start packing up so we can get out of the way for the next person. The next person who WILL not acknowledge it because she's too busy reading Enquirer to be unloading her trolley, so the guy behind HER is losing his mind.
A death beam I can shoot from my eyes is the only answer.
I just have to say, in passing like, Brenda Power and hot are in the one sentence. I don't listen to her, it would lead to a weird combination of improper thoughts and a raging liberal agenda.
So, a dose of the pms, what? Where's the moon? Just checking in the diary... ah yes, there you go, full moon today. It's official, Missus, you're wired to the moon. My sympathies.
Conan, it was probably the eclipse that did it then... :D
Hormones, my arse, FMC.
This sort of experience, and my increasingly sociopathic reaction to same, are the reasons that Mrs Jimmy Page's Trousers now prefers to shop alone. She has the patience of Saint Patience, patron saint of patient people. I don't.
Boobs feeling a bit tender Mr Pants? Eyebrows lower than they should normally be? Pull up a stool and sit along by me. I'm making a an arrow than can penetrate panstick make-up, but we can still natter.
It's just the sheer RUDENESS of people, most wearing. I HATE people, yet I am never rude to them.
...I'm sorry, I just saw the words Brenda Power and hot in a combinational form. I believe I will go back to bed after all, and await the four horsemen who much surely be on their merry way.
Sorry 'bout that, Missus. I was in her presence once, the hotness aura cannot be denied...
But Conan, she says 'umm umm umm' a lot, and not in a hawt way. Also, she's Brenda Power.
Does anyone else notice how 'tabloid-y' Newstalk is gone of late? Eammon Keane is losing the run of himself, Brenda's doing fine job of pretending to be Jerry Springer and so on. Like the Galwayweigan says, Moncrieff is still all right and I like George hook, but the rest seems to be sliding into the Evening herald of the airways.
The rudeness is killer alright, as is a trolley hitting the back of your ankles, Oooch. Why I would mill a tin of Bachelors at the unsuspecting perpetrator of such a crime. Hormones don’t bother me, but sore boobs, yuck, did you ever make the mistake of going running in such a state arghhhh, that has to be the most yucky of all.
Does she, really? That's quite suggestive. Oh gawd, now I want to hear her "umm umm umming". Is that bad of me?
Right, tell me she only does it when put on the spot by sharp-minded pinko-liberal types.... No, the hawtness will not be denied.
But I'm not re-tuning the radio. I will be strong.
I'll be going running in an hour. Poppered to the gills on painkillers music set to stun.
'Ummm Conan, what big ummmm rhubarb you have ummmmm.'
I may never recover from that...
Btw, I have a pic of the rhubarb for you, it's suffered a setback from the frost. It's gone a bit well, limp.
Brenda upsets me but, she has five kids I want five kids, she is a barrister I want to be a barrister. Shuudddder.
Don’t go running in your condition Miss Cat, don’t dO IT, YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT !!
FMC - i've had the same experience in almost every city/suburb/town i've lived in. and because i have no brain to mouth filter, i've been known to say to the clusterers things wholly inappropriate. so we do a few things to get by....
1) we do the bulk of our grocery shopping all in one go, either early in the morning or late at nite.
2) i don't try to maneuver my cart down the aisle, but instead park it at the end, get what i need, and swing up the next aisle to get what i need there, and retrieve the cart. that way i don't have to deal with the ninny's yapping in the middle of the aisle with their spawn running wild.
3) i park way the hell out in god's country when i go shopping - only takes an extra 2 minutes to get to the store
4) we use 'self-checkout' whenever we can. most people are too technology inept to figure the things out, so the line is generally clear.
that being said, i have been known to use my cart as a weapon on more than one occasion.
I know two instances of love sparking in a supermarket. One couple's eyes met over the tinned vegetables they were assigned to stack, stayed together for two years and then had a horrible break up. The other couple got married. Everyone looks sick in a supermarket so I guess it's as well to see what you could be dealing with before you promise to stay through sickness and health.
I don't know what my point is. I guess i just thought someone should stick up for supermarkets. Myself, I hate them. When I was pregnant the smells and sounds of our local one used to make me have to run outside and dry-heave into a bin. I still regularly feel slightly nauseous when I have to pass the bit where they're roasting their overly processed and seasoned chicken.
I worked in Superquinn when I was 16. Bloody awful when the customers were there (especially in Superquinn where you have to say hi to every customer within six feet), but boy was it fun when we were restocking after the place had shut! We had loads of games, my favourite was gladiators-esque one where we jammed packets of toilet roll onto the broom handles and tried to knock each other off buckets... :D
Most fun job I've ever had actually, in hindsight...
Oh dear! Sounds like yesterday's trip to the library for me. I'm pretty sure some part of my brain actually broke then because this morning was pretty much the same and I felt nothing.
That's one solution I suppose.
I detest shopping. Any kind of shopping. Even clothes shopping. Hate the crowds, hate the ignorant people that you always seem to find in shops. So at 30 years of age, I get my mother to do my shopping. Sad I know. I give her a list. She gets them. I go to her house to collect and pay her. Simple. As soon as I get Internet access at home it'll be tesco.ie
Yer rhubarb awaits...
The only places I've ever wanted to murder fellow shoppers have been: 1. Tesco in Tallaght and Rathmines
2. Wal-Mart anywhere
3. Any department store in any shopping mall anywhere.
I lived in Tallaght for a mere 3 months, and Rathmines for a month, so I have little to complain about now. I avoid Wal-Mart and malls like the plagues that they are, and stick with the local grocery that always runs smoothly even at peak weekend hours. Problem solved.
Or so it would seem. I can feel my blood pressure rising at the memory of Tesco packed to overflowing, and only two lines being open. And only one of the four self check-out machines are working, and everyone seems to be paying with small change or a debit card that doesn't work.
The woman with a cart full of groceries who doesn't pack as the order's rung up...grrr. I'd never bagged my own groceries until I lived in Ireland, and it was high on that list of "Things I've Got to Learn, and Quick." I got so good at it that it's all I can do now to shove aside the bag-boy at our grocery and do it myself. Then again, I was always good at Tetris.
Oh, poor FMC. You perfectly described every 9 out of 10 trips to the market that I have. I thought I was the only one to feel dangerously close to violence. The worst part is that if you do open your mouth and try to vent by telling them what inconsiderate assholes they are then suddenly you're the problem. So I'm resolved to keep my trap shut.
You know those little one-shot bottles of booze you find behind the customer service desk/ciggy counter? They're for you!!! They really help with the stress and the woeful piped music.
Don't worry about alcohol levels in your bloodstream, you'll have burnt it all off before you're finished. You'll be sluggish and tired and pretty mouldy by the time you get home but it beats being furious I guess.
Tesco in Rathmines is the Devil's most smelliest smegma!
Most supermarkets are a nightmare if you're not in form for them, but That particular one was put on this earth to make people ALL people lose whatever trace of humanity they were hoping to cling to. Vile.
I do like this small bottle talk though. It's the 21st of February. You know what this means? This time Friday week I will be face down in a vat of rum.
Huzzah!
I will only lift my head long enough to get some to place strips of cheese into my mouth.
Double huzzah!
Doesn't running just lift the bloomin' spirits?
I have a solution. Guns. Lots of them. That'll make you feel better. Momentarily, anyaway.
I had a similar mood swing moment earlier in the week. I was feeling like an absolute bag of arseholes, no painkillers in a five k radius and I was standing in a paddock of minature ponies.
MINATURE.FUCKING.PONIES. I seething. My logic had left the building (hey, it's not their fault they're minature) and all I could do was look at them with contempt and blame them for what my life had become this week.Oh, how i hated them.
Ahahsnarf to the max. Oh deara. I can just sooooooooooo visualise that.
Some people just shouldn't be allowed to go to the supermarket at the same time as the people who KNOW how they work. I like going on a Monday evening, it's normally fairly empty and they normally have everything in stock because of Monday deliveries. What you got today FMC was the "supermarket rage" it's an awful affliction!
It has a title? Awesome. Right off to watch Boston Legal. I love Shatner, it's like guilty pleasure.
That was funny but the labels just finished off:)
Yes I came up with that (well someone else probably did but it's unique in my circle). Tesco Merrion is great on a Monday night, and they play brilliant 80's music, I have been known to actually dance in there, frightening I know!!
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