Supermarkets, the Illiterati and The Rage.

Supermarket: n 1. a giant petridish of communicable diseases.  2. common habitat of mullets, moccasins and bad manners. 3. meeting place of the Illiterati.

A trip to the supermarket generally brings on a bout of hippy-ism.  You know, the I'm-growing-dreads-and-will-live-in-a-rainforest-eat-beans-and-protest-at-G20-summits type of hippy-ism?  And that's on a good day. On a bad day shopping just brings on a bout of The Rage.

Rage precursors may include :

• Always,always, always getting the poltergeist trolley, the one that steers itself into stacks of canned soup, other people and other peoples cars.
• Lady in aisle 1, do not scream at your child and use profanities.  It is not only cruel, it make us all wonder what you do to that poor child behind closed doors.
• Man in aisle 3: Wash.  How you can bear being around yourself is mystifying.
• Pod of surly adolescents in aisle 7:  Move on or at least part when other shoppers approach.  You are not intimidating, you just look like a group of shoplifters into whom Ragers would love to ram with their shopping trolleys.
• To my children: Do not leave my side.  As far as I'm concerned everyone in here is a predator just waiting to snatch you away to their pedophile ring.  Also, do not approach this trolley with anything wrapped in shiny paper or anything that has wheels, makes noises or contains trans fats.  Do not request anything, except apples.  Please don't treat the aisles as your personal skating rink or bowling alley. Old ladies quake at your approach. Thing One your brother is not a bowling ball.  Thing Two, stop behaving like a bowling ball. 
• Regular checkout: Are you pushing in?  Yes, I was next. Just because I don't have my trolley pushed up the arse of the person in front of me doesn't mean I'm not in line.
• And finally the Express Checkout, haven of the Illiterati.  Yes, that sign does say 12 items or less, not twelve groups of eight items or 12 cartons of coke and miscellaneous items. Twelve INDIVIDUAL ITEMS.
• And to the man standing behind me, yes you mullet-head. Brush your teeth.  

.Now all I have to do is negotiate the carpark. Hopefully we'll get out of there without an insurance claim.

Over to you dear reader. I would love to know what invokes YOUR rage. Do tell.....share with Aunty Charlotte.