Being of the great unwashed and the ‘being paid to stay at home Honda types’ I have taken on the worthy role of househusband.
This new role has been briefly described before in the first of the ‘no work’ classic pieces here (check archives) but some of the detail of my new life here at the towers hasn’t. So here it is.
I have not made a habit of being ‘the person that goes for the shopping’ its not a man/woman thing or a her job my job type issue, its just that I am rubbish at it. It might be more accurate to say, I don’t have the correct attitude for it, because I can actually do it…. I know because I am now.
No the problem doesn’t really lie with me, its you, the public that are the problem. You think you own the supermarkets I go to…you don’t. I do.
Apart from always seeing some lovely ‘must have’ stuff on the shelves when I do the shop, and I am dealing with / getting therapy/being lectured, for that, the big problem with going shopping is other shoppers.
This week I, and I know this a cliché but this is true, the first problem I encountered was out of the many hundreds of shopping trolleys I could have picked, I picked one that one wheel had a mind of its own.
The wheel would attack other trolleys by propelling the whole trolley towards other shoppers while I wrestled with it to not.
Although by the time I had finished shopping, the mad mental psychopathic wheel was dragging its self away from anywhere I tried to push it, because unlike me, even the mad mental wheel who’d escaped from a murdering mad mental top security wheel jail, didn’t want to run the old biddy’s over that I wanted to.
The thing is, all I want to do is go around picking up the stuff off my very strict….. The ‘I will not buy cakes, liver or sardines and beer’ (things I like but are bad/detested by ‘The Missus’)…list. It’s as simple as that.
This is not leisure time shopping where I need to stroll up and down the shelf’s, thinking things like ‘ mmm, that might be nice…I wonder if there’s one at the back with a shelf life half an hour before the 100 cans in front, mmm that would be nice in blue. That’s everyone else.
No, I’m looking at an SAS type oppo, in out, get the hell home.
But you…ladies and pensioners that lurk at ASDA, no, that’s not what you want. You want to hang around the place as long as possible because your not burning coal or leccy at home if you’re here. No, you want to hang around until they start putting yellow stickers in stuff so you can save 5p and possible get a dose of food poisoning that will get you into hospital to save even more coal and leccy.
There are no rules of the road in supermarkets either. Its kill or be killed, push when a bit of courtesy would have sufficed and if you can, obstruct every other road, no, shop user you can.
The way I see it, if you need to give the section a good looking at to find the thing your after, you must stand in the middle of the isle with your trolley at a jaunty angle to stop anyone else (me) navigating round you. As on the road, if you are a swine, do not make eye contact with the ‘obstructed’ other wise some ancient primeval instinct of manners will compel you to move..And you certainly don’t want that.
You know I’m going to stop there so you don’t move.
This is very dodgy because its lucky I’m the writing type and will only start into the writing realms of the perfect psychological breakdown of a person who if they owned a gun a terrible thing would happen and a town where that person lived would be having TV crews from far and wide turning up for all the wrong reasons.
Just passing thoughts and pictures in my..Going slightly mad head.
Suffice to say, that if you are in ASDA and a 6ft2 person with wild flashing eyes and a toiurettes type chant, with a trolley that is coming towards you, with no beer cakes, liver or sardines in it, you had better side step. That isle is MINE.
