Chris and I knew what we were up against last weekend, when we decided to do our grocery shopping at Trader Joe's.  It's not like we were idiots.  The weather was the nicest it'd been all winter long, and that could only have resulted in serious competition for the mere reward of a view of TJ's macaroni shelf.  Most supermarket shoppers are irrational, starving, asinine savages on weekends who can stand in one spot, feet spread apart, hands on hips, elbows out, staring at the same box of cereal for fifteen minutes.  Without buying it.  And when they're not doing that, they're practically smashing into your cart with their carts.  Because they're "special" and in a hurry, so everyone else had better get the fuck out of their way.  You'd think these shoppers were intoxicated with their lack of common knowledge and decency.  I mean, there is only a number of places one can go while inside a Trader Joe's-- through the entrance, into and out of aisles, to the cashier and then out the door.  But no.  These folks are too creative and high off LSD, apparently, to heed and follow basic directions.  Need I mention that they're far too evolved and sophisticated to say "excuse me" or "sorry"?

Which is why we usually do our grocery shopping on Friday at 11:00 AM or Thursday at 2:00 PM or Wednesday at 7:00 PM.  On any other day of the damn week.

"You know what's going to happen, right?" Chris asked me while we were buckling our seatbelts.

"Yeah."

Good thing we decided to take a drive towards the river in Edgewater for a long, romantic stroll beforehand. 

Later, as we pulled into a parking space at Trader Joe's, I mumbled stuff to myself.  Not a prayer.  Not a special request.  I mumbled a series of affirmations:



                  



                     I will not roll my eyes at fellow shoppers.

            I will not make sarcastic remarks in the frozen food section.

                    I will not visualize shoppers engulfed in poo,
                    even if they are paired off and blocking a path.

                         I will not punch anyone in the nose.

                        I will not hurl food items at anyone.


And why wasn't I going to do any of these things?  Because we'd logically parked our cart in an area absent of traffic.  We walked to what we needed, selected items of our choice and then walked them back to our cart.  We perused aisle one while our cart sat in aisle four.  Distance was of no matter.  We're young and healthy and capable of walking back and forth for thirty minutes or so.

Did it work?  For the most part, yes. 

Without a cart, we were able to maneuver through all the other cart-pushing asshats and inconsiderate, me-oriented idlers.  Only  twice had a spaced-out shopper earned one of my infamous glances.  A third incident, an absolute charmer, involved crazy-lady and her well-stocked cart making an unpredictable U-turn in a very crowded aisle.  How she almost ran me and other shoppers over in the process remains a mystery.  But, hey, there's a first time for everything.

Luckily, I was able to let that one go with a deep-breath and a long stare up at the ceiling which could only have been interpreted as seriously.  Seriously? 

My favorite part of the trip came later, when we exited the store and were walking to our car with our groceries.  A behemoth of a gal walked behind us with her extra-short boyfriend, bags in tow.  A minute later, the two wound up zipping in front of us and walking towards their vehicle.

              


Look.  Ordinarily, I don't judge anyone on their physical features and attributes.  Because I don't care about these things.  I really don't.  I've dated tall guys, short guys, thin and wide guys.  None of that physical stuff matters.  I've never been that picky.

What matters is that I'M SO FUCKING TIRED of hearing ANYONE criticize someone else's nose, ears, eyes, bellybutton, toes, ass, hair, fingers, AS IF THEY'RE OH, SO PERFECTLY BUILT and AS IF OTHERS HAVE A CHOICE ABOUT WHAT ATTRIBUTES THEY'RE BORN WITH.  Oh, my God.  STFU!


              



And women are worse than men at this game, lemme tell ya.  Many stupid women criticize the physicalities of their own species, vehemently.  Believe me, I've heard it all.  And it is all disgusting.

Well, men or women, THESE ARE THE FOLKS WHO WILL DIE WITHOUT EVERY KNOWING WHAT A GOOD LAY IS.


    


But they all still make me nauseous.  And this particular behemoth walked in front of me and poked fun at an attribute I have no control over to her boyfriend.  Probably to make herself feel better.  Like most mean schoolgirls at the playgrounds do.  Ha.  Ha. 

At first I didn't think their discussion was about me, but then the doofy-elf boyfriend turned around and said,

"Sssh, she's right behind you."  And then he snickered. 

Way to go taking a crack at my self-esteem, bozos.  So courageous, unique and mature of you, really.

I looked at them.  I just looked at them without uttering a single word. 

The fact is that, if I wanted to be a bigger asshole than those two, I could have.  I could have vomited a string of special-descriptions about them in an instant.  I could have mentioned how their children would look as well, but it wouldn't have been the first time they'd ever heard that. 

I guess that "fighting" tactic simply wasn't-- isn't-- my style.